Concerning Wizards
by Morwen Pendragon
Summary: Fate hated him, Death obviously has something against him, and now he is awake in a green land unlike what he left and is determined not to care this time. NoPairings, HPLOTR X-over
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to the Harry Potter Series or affiliated books and movies. I do not own the rights to The Lord of the Rings or affiliated books or movies. I am not making money off of this monstrosity of unoriginality.

Here is my challenge to myself:

A completed LotR/HP crossover where Harry does _not_ end up with Legolas (actually..he won't end up with anybody in all probability, I don't have the patience to write about relationships) or he comes into middle-earth as an elf.

Elves do not have all the fun. It takes too long to get them drunk.

(pssst…if you find one or have written one, please tell me!)

* * *

Prologue

_He had heard some fishy things about the after-life. So that is why he was getting his drinking in now. Merlin knows it would be his lucky day in Heaven, Hell, Valhalla…whatever, to find that there is no Firewhiskey. Yeah, because **that** would be what he is denied._

His snort echoed through the stone ruins of what was the Ministry of Magic in another glorious lifetime. The clouds above him were rumbling back in reply.

"How poetic"

Not that anyone is there to hear the voice, let alone reply to the comment upon the weather. He was used to being alone. He longed for the days when a night like this would be spent on plushy armchairs in front of a roaring fire. The second years would act like they were twice as knowledgeable than the first years and the Prefects would tell everyone to quiet down because people were studying. When no one could go outside though, everyone was inside, together and making noise. The more noise, the more love. He longed to be in a noisy room, sitting in a chair and just watching people laugh. Silence was his stalwart companion though, the war saw to that. Hah…_war_…it sounded so _honourable_. He went down the names in his head and realized that no matter how they died, it never seemed justified. They deserved to live. He couldn't bring them back though.

Ronald Weasley died of a snake bite, the asp was commanded by the Dark Lord himself, it got his ankle from behind while he was shielding his mother. Molly, Arthur, Charlie, and Ronald Weasley's bodies were never recovered due to the magical fire that took over their property for three days. All that was left of the building once called home by so many was a crumpled pile of bricks remaining from the hearth. Four handfuls of ashes were released in the wind in a hidden ceremony. The public still had not acknowledged their deaths to this day, a whole three years later.

The Burrow had not even finished smoldering when the unexpected occurred. Voldemort took Hogwarts. A school. The ministry was not the first to go as the Order predicted, Voldemort wanted to crush the memories of his childhood along with the future of the wizarding world before going after its centre. It seemed absurd at the time that the takeover would start at a school, but by gathering the minds of children and destroying the souls that would not bend to his will early the Dark Lord ensured he would still win the Wizarding World even if he lost the upcoming battles.

Draco Malfoy died when he refused to kill the other students and tried to lie about protecting another student from the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord went to seek out the Chamber of Secrets while the takeover was being handled by his Deatheaters. On his way there he was stopped by Draco who offered to search the bathroom and report his findings. Unfortunately for Draco, the Dark Lord knew what was behind the door to the girl's bathroom on the second floor. After Draco was killed by Nagini, the Dark Lord pushed the rusty-hinged door open to reveal Ginevra Weasley and what was the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets.

Ginny Weasley was never one to stay put when told to do so. Her mother realized this when Ginny was three and had to use a sticking charm every time batty, old Ottis from Plymtree came to read stories to her children. This same sense of restlessness occurred when Neville Longbottom told her to stay put, and watch the map with Luna. Deciding that this was an insult to both her intelligence and Luna Lovegood's, she decided to something that was more useful than map watching. Experience, one of the hardest teachers, told her that the Slytherin Heritage was important to the Dark Lord, as were the 4 dozen odd Basilisk teeth inside the Chamber of Secrets. It was this thought process that lead to her destroying the chamber entrance with 25 fireworks, and bludgeoning hexes that were cast until exhaustion would not let her move her arm. She never realized the Dark Lord entered the bathroom until she heard the screams of rage. Her death came quickly, an unintentional kindness of Lord Voldemort.

Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood died within the hour of their friend. Neville was taken down with a quick "_lacero_" across his spine from a Deatheater that snuck up on from behind in an invisibility cloak. Luna died seeing her body at a new angle after Bellatrix Lestrange decapitated her while she was trying heal the arm that was cursed off of a third year Ravenclaw.

Those outside of the school soon suffered, Madam Rosemerta gave Harry, Hermione, and Ron a bottle of Firewhiskey as thanks for helping her transport refugees out of Scotland. She died two weeks later, the Deatheaters cornered her when she was buying milk in a muggle market for a family in hiding.

The bottle she handed them was the one he was drinking now. The three of them promised each other that they would split the bottle when Tom Marvolo Riddle and all his followers were eliminated. How naïve they were then. He wished he was still naïve now. Two years of hunting Deatheaters taught him that tomorrow doesn't exist. The past two years seemed like one long day since he woke up from his death. Voldemort was shocked by the turn in events, he didn't realize the depths that Harry had fallen to to destroy the Horcrux's. No sword, no Basilisk fang, he had to destroy the darkness with darkness. Learning Occlumency never turned out as well as Dumbledore had wanted it to, but Harry was able to retain some parseltongue abilities as well as the control he learned to destroy the cup, locket, and tiara. Nagini was the last to go, her destruction showed Tom Riddle that he was no longer dealing with a 14 year-old schoolboy. Tom Riddle died upon the Dark magic that he coveted and the Elder Wand he lost to an eighteen year-old with cold green eyes and a cause. He only came back from death to ensure that others won't be killed by Tom and his followers. He almost wished he stayed dead.

But here he was, twenty years-old and newly appointed Most Wanted Criminal in England by the ICW, in the remnants of the Ministry of Magic drinking himself into oblivion. If Hermione could see him now...

"_They're not dead_"

He yelps and jumps at the whisper in his ear. Well, it isn't so much a jump as a stumbling roll. He looks up from his back and sees where he is for the first time as a hint of moon shines through the clouds. The light filters through the cracks and holes of the ceiling baring evidence of spellfire, age, and an end to the magic holding it together. The rays cast a ghostly light to the edifice in the middle of the room.

The veil.

Years ago, he would have cried. Now he just couldn't do it. There was too much to cry for. The wound of Sirius Black's death on his heart wasn't healed so much as cauterized with the many deaths that followed. He wondered if he would cry if the following deaths never happened.

The sky was an angry palette of black, purple, and brown. The ozone was thick in the air. It will rain soon. But he doesn't see the clouds…only the thin silver veil that flutters in the storm winds with the moonlight fading across it.

He smiled, and serenely said to himself "I can't believe I hadn't thought of this sooner."

He picked up the wand with Elder berries carved into the surface, pointed at himself and said with full purpose:

'Avada Kedavra'

Silence rang through the chamber. He opened an eye.

Pulse. Check.

Wand in hand. Check.

He wasn't dead. Why in the name of Morgana's left tit was he still alive?!

After 3 more trials, it was decided that this was not a fluke. A person cannot kill themselves through the Killing curse apparently. Irony is such a pain in the ass when it finds you.

He wasn't going to let the laws of magic stop him, he was a master of working his way through loopholes by now. How else was he supposed to see everyone he knew and held dear? He was the only one left behind. They were all dead. He could no longer summon his parents, Remus, Tonks or Sirius with the Stone. Wait...Sirius….

Sirius.

The veil.

He turned around, the moon no longer shone on the veil, make it appear more black than silver. He looked at the bottle, whiskey was half gone. He sat down and leaned against the veil. Might as well finish the whiskey before taking a dive.

A stone rolls across the floor, quicker than a cobra he points his wand at the cause of the disturbance.

A jackdaw.

The little bird hopped across the floor and tries to pick up the pebble that stopped at his feet. The bird let out a cawing of protest when it couldn't pick up the rock, and began to hop about looking for something else to take. The bird's agitated hopping escalated to a metallic caw that echoed through the cold chambers. Nothing shone without the light.

So the bird was looking for something shiny to put in her nest. Silly bird. He reached into his pocket and pulled out 2 Knuts and a Daily Prophet clipping of wanted wizards, he started at the clipping and realized, that he wasn't wearing his own robes. He had picked up the robes to fend off the chill of early October. The robes he wore were of the Deatheater that taken to hiding here, Amycus Carrow. He was the last one on a long list of Deatheaters that went into hiding after the death of Voldemort. It was ironic that the Deatheaters were now in hiding. Unfortunately for them, no one was willing to risk getting milk for them. He dropped the clipping and saw his face next to Carrow's, well at least he was finished with his self-appointed mission of eradicating the last of Voldemort's force. It wasn't a satisfying thought.

He tossed the knut to the frenzied bird that nabbed to shiny copper coin and flew off like hell on wings. It almost looked like a thestral if he squinted, black wings and white eyes...maybe you needed to do something to see jackdaws too. He shook his head, he was starting to sound like Luna. He looked up and was treated to a fat raindrop in the eye. It was at times like these he missed glasses. The battles, fights, and hiding forced him - well forced Hermione - to research alternatives to glasses. A potion made with ingredients gathered from an apothecary storeroom that was attacked and abandoned healed his vision better than expected; Hermione had used substitutes to a basic potion in lieu of absent ingredients. Leave it to Hermione to create an elixir out of table-scraps.

The rain began to pour heavily and pool in cracks and pockets in the floor formed by absent flagstones. His hair clung to his face, the rain began to blur his vision. Leaning his head back he wondered why he was still there. His answer was not the sound he was expecting: hollow gratings…like stone upon stone.

He spun around and saw the pillars of the Veil with the stone he leaned against pressed into place. For a tense moment he held the Elder wand he won from Voldemort at the Veil. Nothing. He walked towards the dark fabric and wondered where the shine it held moments ago came from. In answer to his question, the moon peaked through the rain.

He paused and took in the moonlight, glistening in the raindrops and puddles, and couldn't believe he saw light vein and crisscross on the pillars. The light was a silver blood drawn upwards in fine capillaries of the stone. Time seemed to freeze as the jackdaw flew, dropping the knut which clanged in the midst of what felt like a silent thunder reverberating in his bones.

As the thunder was drawn rapidly into the veil, an unholy screech thrashed out of the veil and as wind whipped through the chamber.

Oh, sweet Circe, now he'd done it.

The wind picked up the water and formed glass like tendrils in the rain. He was in awe of the magic around him so much he hadn't noticed the cyclone surrounding him. He was thrown to the ground by the sheer force of the gale and was dragged to the awaiting veil.

He clung to the pillars as his body was dragged in. With the knife-like wind, shrieking echoing through the chamber, and the jackdaw's lifeless form ten feet in front of him, the thought of suicide seemed out of place. Why did he want to survive? Everything he wanted five minutes ago he could have now. He just had to let go.

Everyone was dead, no doubt partying it up in the great unknown, and he was late. Why was he still here hanging on for a lonely life?

The question was never answered as the rock he was sitting on twenty minutes ago flew towards him and struck his arm numb. Surprised, and with a cry of pain, he flew backwards into the Veil.

Light. Bright, undiluted, blinding light pierced through his eyelids as he tried to protect his corneas. Then everything was dark, with a furtive glance he peeked out…and gasped. Stars of all shapes and colors surrounded his floating form, millions, no, billions of stars were out there. He whipped his head around surprised, someone was out there.

"HELLO!, CAN YOU HEAR ME?"

No answer came back. He could have sworn he had heard a whisper. The whispers grew in magnitude and volume, but even when the whispers seemed like a violent roar, he couldn't understand a word.

"Why aren't you answering me?!"

He continued shouting, screaming, and pleading until the voices grew to such a din that he couldn't hear his own yells. Covering his ears he looked around for an escape, anywhere was better that here. The stars began to vibrate in the noise..or maybe that was is brain shaking in the sea of sound. The light each grew until they blended, no longer individual points of light, but a mass of white surrounding him, piercing his clenched eyes. Wind whipped through his hair, hot and cold and he smelled the ocean heard the roar and then it stopped. He was falling.

He tumbled from the hurricane of light and space and landed with a soft _whumph _on the cold mossy ground.

Wait.

Moss.

He looked around and saw he lay upon a moss covered boulder in the middle of a forest. He was no longer in London…or Scotland. He took stock of the situation. Still drenched, wait..Why did he smell like salt?. Still drunk…Was the ground supposed to shift like that? He could still- no…wait…WHAT?!- he can't apparate back to the veil, Surrey or Hogsmeade.

Wait…are those hoofbeats?

Oh. Crap.

Well...At least he still had his Firewhiskey.

* * *

A/N: I am am a busy student, updates will not occur during the school year. They will occur around Christmas, Spring, Easter, and Summer, because that is when I do not have school.

That said, I will try. I have the entire story outlined. I know how this ends. I am looking at about 20 chapters for each book. The chapters are unfortunately shorter than I would like. The time consuming part of writing this is meshing the styles of LotR and HP, thus I need to lean on the movies of LotR more than the books in some cases. I also like to include little tidbits from the books outside of the main story, be it 'Fantastic Beasts' or 'The Silmarilion'. I also try to use online sources such as interviews with J.K. Rowling or _The Encyclopedia of Arda_ at arda/ (an amazing site and source for Tolkein fans). I unfortunately do not have a good background in elvish, but I think I'll live because I always forgot to look for the translations in the footnotes when I read fanfics, so I probably won't bother with those.


	2. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: J.R.R. Tolkien and J.K. Rowling own it. I own nothing but a few T-Shirts, some jeans, my computer, and my teddy bear.

A/N: This longer than the last chapter, but unfortunately much shorter than I want it. I was floored when I looked at my Story Stats after 48 hours, I only thought maybe 20 people would bother looking at it. When I saw 200, I immediately began typing this chapter.

Still protesting Harry the elf. Still protesting Harry long lost love of Legolas. Still protesting all-powerful elvish-speaking Harry.

* * *

Chapter 2

The hoof beats drew closer. They weren't at full pace, but faster than they should be if one was picking their way through the wood in the dark. He took a slow sip of the Firewhiskey…just to be safe of course. He knew three things:

1) The people that were coming knew the woods.

2) They were not coming for him. Yet.

3) Judging from the moaning, someone was injured.

Now this is where things get complicated. The Hermione-voiced angel on his right shoulder said that he should go and at least see what the problem was and if he could help. The Malfoy-voiced devil on the left shoulder however said he ignore them and just head in the general direction they were headed, which would lead him to a town hopefully… maybe.

The Hermione angel was glaring at him now. He felt a bit of fear looking at the apparition on his shoulder.

Hagrid was right when he said he regretted drinking before making decisions. Though he wasn't sure if Hagrid was talking about the actual decision making part.

The cries grew louder. The group stopped to make a camp, he could see the fire through the trees. With a quick tap of a wand on his shoes to silence his footfalls and a resigned sigh, decided that it couldn't hurt to look. From where he was he saw…were those statues of trolls? The statue closest to him had a bird's nest precariously perched upon its left ear. He was sure he saw Luna make a hat like that once for a Ravenclaw second-year. He shook his head and took another sip to forget the memories.

Below the trolls stood an old pony with what appeared to be a child rummaging through the knapsack attached to the saddle. Two others were kneeling on the ground next to a fourth who was the wounded one. The sun had completely set and the fourth was muttering.

"Sam! Hurry up and find something for Frodo! He doesn't look to well…" Shouted the younger of the two kneeling next to the injured.

"Well, Strider will be back at any rate" The older looked at the disapproving glare from the one unpacking the horse wh was identified as Sam, "He said he was coming back with something to slow the poison!"

"I don't put much stock in this Strider fellow, he hasn't given us any proof that he is really taking us to see the elves." Sam said as he came back with a sprig of shriveled greens he tore up and threw into a pot bubbling above the flames.

Oh no. Bad bad bad. Elves, they were not a muggle thing, he hated dodging the flying ropes of _incarcerous_. Even then, his name was plastered over muggle and magical watch lists as a black-magic wielding vigilante. This 'Strider' could present a problem too. Looking out at the woods he tried to see anything that moved, nothing. The forest didn't even seem to breathe then. The dancing shadows from the fire were enough to keep him on a slight edge.

"Here, Mr. Frodo, see if you can eat this, it's not much…" Sam said as he handed his friend a ladle of soup from the fire. Harry watched as the right arm of this 'Frodo' person tried to reach across his body to grab the ladle. The arm fell to Frodo's chest halfway and the left arm remained motionless.

"I can't see it Sam, the shadows are blocking it…I can't see it…" the mumbling was faint, but still audible from the troll Harry was hiding behind. Harry winced as the muttering continued. He hated poison, it was the worst way to go, no one likes to think of any death let alone their own, but to die before one's own eye is torture.

A twig snapped 40 feet to the left. He tried to look into the darkness to see what had made the noise. He shifted his head and then felt an arm pull him backwards into the darkness.

"What have we here?" A male voice with a strange accent whispered in his ear. He was about to struggle, and then he felt a thin line of cold steel touch his throat.

"You have nobody" Harry replied. Judging by the accent he might have finally been caught by an ICW bounty hunter. Fantastic.

After feeling his arm twist in a way that shouldn't be possible, the low voice responded, "Don't make me repeat myself again: Who are you?"

"I have no name." Oh brilliant. His drunken mind caught up with the situation and realized he should have just given them a fake name. Too late now, he knew from experience how often Death Eaters would make up information just to avoid further questioning, it was even too foolish for a drunk to try the same thing.

"I sincerely doubt that. Now what are you doing here?" The strangers grip around his arms was tightening.

Harry quickly took stock of the situation. He was restrained, drunk, and trespassing apparently. Oh well, he's seen worse. "Listen mate, I don't even know where here is." He shifted to test if he could break out of the grip only to find it tighten. Oh, of all the nights to have a bender, he definitely wasn't able to go reflex for reflex with his captor.

"Servants of the Dark One have many disguises, yours needs some work. You are over 14 leagues away from any town or village, a rather odd place to", he took a sniff and shuddered,"get intoxicated."

"I am only going to say this once, I don't know where I am or how I got here. If you are look for dark servants, you got the wrong man"

"A stranger with no name in the middle of the woods, near this camp, I don't believe you" He was pushed into the clearing which now contained another man…who was dressed rather odd for a muggle.

"Glorfindel! These are good tidings indeed, if we have your company." The dark haired stranger looked at Harry, his expression darkened, and said something in a language Harry had never heard before.

His captor responded in the same language and the two kept glancing at him. Harry took a look at his captor, blonde hair and grey eyes. This 'Glorfindel' looked like a more pleasant Malfoy, well maybe not.

"Merry, who's that? Is he after the soup?" Harry looked up and saw the youngest child looking at him with an indignant expression upon his face. Harry's mind immediately started conjuring images of magical soups…He wondered what was so good about this one.

"Careful, Pip, Strider doesn't trust him." Merry responded looking warily at Harry. "What do you think, Sam?"

Sam however was paying little mind to Harry and was openly staring at Glorfindel, "Look Mr. Frodo, He's an elf."

Mr. Frodo was staring at Glorfindel, but he had a peculiar expression between enrapture and pain. Harry looked up at Glorfindel. An elf? He looked up and saw something he had just brushed off as a drunken hallucination, pointy ears. Hmmm…perhaps 12 swigs of Firewhiskey and passage through the Veil of Death had thrown his head for a loop. Somewhat.

"Get up." The Strider fellow said as he dragged Harry to his feet. Harry felt slightly sick at the quick change between positions.

"Well, he definitely isn't sober."Strider said with a raised eyebrow.

"Yeah, got that" Harry rasped while trying to ignore the bile rising up his throat.

"I found this next to him." Glorfindel said as he held the Firewhiskey.

Strider took the bottle, and took a sniff of dark amber liquid and almost gagged."What in the name of Arda is this? Poison?"

Harry wheeled his head to follow the movement of the bottle, "You should try drinking it sometime…" Oohh. His stomach was rolling now. His mind must have started too because suddenly the ground looked like it was see-sawing in front of him.

The voice of Strider flitted in and around his ears like a snitch, "Glorfindel, if he drank this much he's going to be…"

Harry didn't really care what they thought he was as the see-sawing world rose like a wave before him and knocked him out.

* * *

Harry woke up and felt…good, actually, if not a bit blurry thoughtwise. He remembered going to the ministry to take down Amycus Carrow, and the fight that followed. Since his armor was torn, he grabbed Carrow's black robes. He remembered fixing the Dark Mark to something else. He remembered the bottle, getting plastered, the veil-

The Veil.

If Harry had the hangover he should have he knew that he probably would have thrown up. He tried not to move though. He smelled moss still but now it was mixed with a fragrance that seemed to caress his head. There was tightness around his forehead that told him he was blindfolded, he opened an eye to test the theory to be rewarded with darkness. He shifted and realized his wrists and ankles were bound, he almost smiled. Even the Deatheaters knew that if they didn't want him to escape they would need to bind his individual fingers together. He was about to flick his finger to cut the rope when he heard a noise to the left.

"Glorfindel, is he awake?" A strong but light voice asked as footsteps crunch the levels behind Harry.

"No, still out, he hasn't moved yet. Why, do the Halflings want to leave him here?" This 'Glorfindel' responded from in front of Harry.

"Even if they want to, we can't. He has seen the Halflings and the two of us. If word reaches enemies, you know what will happen." Harry tried to remember the name…it began with an S….

So they didn't know he was awake yet. He felt warmth coming from his right, the smell of smoke indicated that the fire was there and had been recently smothered. That meant that the stone statues of-what were they again?- were in front of him. The woods were behind him and judging by the whickering, the pony and the four- Halflings were they?- were down to his left and were more than twenty feet away. He heard Mad-Eye and Molly Weasley shouting a bizzare duet , bludgeoning the back of his mind about the dangers of drinking. His sober mind started whirring out the possible scenarios that could happen as the conversation continued.

"Aragorn, there are nine riders out there that are at least a hundred times more dangerous than he is. We can't afford to be slowed down with a blindfolded prisoner, we have already been carrying him along for two days now."

Harry honestly couldn't remember the last time he slept for four hours straight, let alone 48 hours. So much for planning to escape the 'Statue camp'.

"We can attach him to Bill. Frodo can ride your horse, it is faster if he should need to escape. Taking a prisoner to Rivendell, while objectionable, is the only recourse we have" Aragorn?-replied. Harry didn't think that was the name…It was a wilder name, with long-steps…Strider! That was it.

A pause of heavy thoughts seemed to pass over Harry's head," Frodo is fading; the splinter is digging itself deeper in with each day. We can no longer stop to camp. The sooner he reaches Lord Elrond, the safer everyone is."

There a silence that was only broken by pacing across camp. Harry wondered where he was that his face was unknown, because obviously these people weren't after him. The riders they spoke of sounded ominous though, but he had trouble envisioning harder enemies than Tom Riddle and his merry men.

"We have to take him with us. He will stay bound though, I don't trust him. He was covered head to toe in salt water when we found him. It hasn't rained for two days, and the ocean is over 200 leagues away. I can't explain him or his reason for lurking near our camp and he won't give a name from what you told me. Lord Elrond and Gandalf should know how to deal with him though." The voice of Strider…Aragorn…whoever he was circled him as he passed around Harry to speak at a softer tone to Glorfindel.

An agitated breath and then,"Very well, they just might. Wake him up" was all Glorfindel said in reply before light footsteps faded in the direction of the Halflings.

Harry was shaken awake by Strider was pulled up to his feet, a knife quickly cut the bonds around his ankles.

"You know, you trust me too much to do that." Harry said as he tried to orient himself in the dark.

Strider gave him a measuring look, as if to see how Harry would attack him, "Probably, but I don't feel like carrying you and we are using the pony"

Harry heard another moan from head. "He's poisoned?"

There was a short pause, and then, "I don't know what information you mean to attain-"

"Are you taking me to civilization?" Harry interrupted, deciding to curb those thoughts of an evil Harry early.

The apprehensive glance became a curious look, "Yes, that is my intention"

"I want to repay you by helping your companion. I know a few healing techniques, and he looks like he could use some help." Harry was playing the nice card. It was true that he had become somewhat proficient in healing which soon became a dying art after St. Mungo's burned. There had to be at least one person who could help Harry in Rivendell, or at least he could figure out the closest path to catching a ship or portkey out of this place. It was strange, he knew that wizarding folk used thestrals or abraxans for travel, and occasionally a horse for short distances, but muggles did not normally use horses for travel. He was trying to figure out what country the Veil spat him out in. Maybe the Canadian's had a Veil too.

He tried to envision Sirius in his dog form plodding next to a moose. He almost laughed. It was a foreign feeling now.

"I don't trust a man that won't entrust me with his name" Strider said with finality. Harry knew would end in his own pain if he broached the subject again. Despite this, Harry could tell that this Strider, or Aragorn as Glorfindel called him, trusted him enough. Hopefully there was someone in Rivendell who knew how to send him back.

Back to what though? No one would welcome him home. He was dubbed as the "Second Snake" by the Daily Prophet and some of the International Press. He buried the last of his friends, little Dennis Creevey, four months ago. Hell, the Dursley's moved without supplying a return address.

Hmm…maybe he should just stay here? He glanced down at his bonds and jumped over a pile of excrement from this 'Bill the pony' he was lashed to…nah, there had to be a more hygienic form of travel.

After stumbling over a few roots and listening to the four Halflings squabble, Harry suddenly felt a wash of cold descend upon him. He stopped walking and almost knocked over Strider, it was both similar and foreign. Like a dementor, but he felt more dread than despair.

A cold wind blew from behind the group. Glorfindel's abrupt cry tore through the silence that fell over the company:

"Fly! Fly Frodo! The enemy has found you!"

* * *

Aragorn was conflicted about many things. He was told to keep an eye out for a hobbit named Frodo Baggins, who would be in the company of Gandalf. Gandalf was supposed to meet the hobbits at Bree, but he hadn't shown. Glorfindel stated last night that he just saw Gandalf as he was headed for Rivendell, and Aragorn had trouble imagining what if anything could hold Gandalf back from completing a task he set for himself. It still doesn't help his task that half of the Halflings do not trust him.

Now this stranger appears and Aragorn had no idea what to make of him. The stranger refused to give his name, and arrived under circumstances not even the greatest conspirator could contrive. The man was drenched; his clothes were soaked through with sea water. Very few who go to the shores end up in Trollshaws, even if he swam up the Greyflood itself. The man's clothes were another cause of concern. The black robe he wore had an embroidery upon the back in silver, two snakes consuming each other in a loop with a twist in the middle. He had almost dropped it when he laid it out to dry by the campfire, it the flickering light the snakes seemed to move. The next cause for concern was the armour the lad was wearing. Most cultures and territories of Middle-Earth had distinct traits in their armor. The soldiers and men of Gondor use the wings of the sea-bird and Rohan can be identified by horse hair attached to helmets or horse engravings. Elves even engraved their weapons with their language. The armor found under the long robe the stranger wore was made of scales. Not the scale-mail of the dwarves, but actual scales. Aragorn could not think of any scaled-creature on middle earth large enough to make the breastplate, except one.

But that was impossible.

Glorfindel was equally as puzzled and more skeptical of the stranger's intentions.

"After all," he had said, "How much can you trust a man who wants to be represented by snakes in battle?"

He didn't know if that would even apply to the boy, he didn't seem like an agent of the enemy. If he was that close to Frodo he should have been able to grab the ring before Aragorn got back. It was painfully obvious that Frodo was injured, however well the stout hobbit hid it, and the three others are no match for sleeping goblin, let alone a man who had as many battle scars as the stranger did. Aragorn had checked the woods after the nameless man showed up. His track went to the middle of a patch of moss on a boulder in the woods. No trail lead to his tracts, nothing. If this person was that excellent at hiding his tracts while drunk, Glorfindel should never have found him. Adding that to the lad's offer to heal what Aragorn deemed a wound beyond the stranger's skill, the young man was a riddle. Honestly, Aragorn didn't feel that this lad was in the service of Mordor, but he had to agree with Glorfindel in that something was off.

As the company broke through the forest, Aragorn wished they could get to Rivendell so that all the mysteries could at least come to some conclusion.

With a slight _thwump_ Aragorn collided with the back of said stranger. The blindfold hindered the sight of his face, but Aragorn could see the lips pressed together so hard his face that they were turning white.

Glorfindel spun around to look up the hill, his eyes widened as he shouted," Fly! Fly Frodo! The enemy has found you!"

Frodo twisted in the saddle and saw the sight Glorfindel was looking at, four riders, garbed in black sitting upon black steeps atop the hill. A loud cry echoed down towards them and Aragorn felt the fear trying to crack open his mind to give way to blind panic.

Glorfindel was yelling at Frodo to ride on to Rivendell while he can. For a sickening moment Aragorn watched as Frodo drew his weapon, eyes never leaving the Nazgul. Frodo looked ready to run to them rather than away.

"_Noro lim, noro lim Asfaloth!_"

The horse bolted away from the riders before the Ring could taunt Frodo any further. He watched as the riders flew past horses foaming red at the mouths. Frodo was well ahead, the elvish-raised horse outstripped the speed of the Mordor steeds and was heading towards the bridge at great speed.

Aragorn exhaled the breath he was unintentionally holding. Frodo would be safe when he reached the river. Elrond knows how to keep enemies away from the "Last Homely House".

Glorfindel was now staring at the stranger. Aragorn glanced at the contorted face of the man in front of him. With a quick nod from Glorfindel, Aragorn removed the blindfold of the stranger. Any information he would have gathered would have been useless to the enemy now that the Nazgul were chasing the Ring to Rivendell.

Green eyes blinked in the light of the sun, they looked down," Awww…this is going to take forever to get out."

Aragorn would have laughed if the situation had been different. The black robe the stranger wore was covered in white rings of salt that made his robes look dark grey as opposed to the black they were when he was dragged to their camp.

"We are going to Rivendell with utmost haste," Glorfindel said in a warning tone," if you impede our travel in any way, I can only ensure you a quicker and more painful drop than the last you had."

"Right then, I'm not stopping anyone. Wouldn't dream of it. Speedy is my middle name." the stranger was holding his head as if in great pain. "What just passed by? It felt…like something was trying to drag someone to their death…"

Glorfindel looked sharply at the stranger, but apparently the fear of the Nazgul had passed and the hobbits had decided they had been quiet for far too long.

"What about Mr. Frodo? Those wraiths are chasing him!" He looked between Glorfindel and Aragorn, "We have to do something!"

Glorindel turned his gaze from the stranger and looked at Sam, "Frodo will find safety at the borders of my people. The best we can do is be there when he wakes up." He finished with a smile at the young hobbit.

"Does this mean we have to keep walking?" Pippin asked while examining the bottom of his feet.

"Yes, young master Peregrin" Glorfindel said with a small smile, "in fact, why don't you and young master Merriadoc lead the way?"

"Way to go Pip, why don't you volunteer us for hunting next?" Merry muttered as he and Pippin headed to the front of the company and headed towards Rivendell. Aragorn had to admit that they were making great speed, Glorfindel gave each of the hobbits a sip of the flask which Aragorn contained something similar to _miruvor_. Apparently the dose should be able to let them reach Rivendell by nightfall.

Glorfindel was keeping the two youngest Halflings entertained at the front of the column, Sam was focusing on the path ahead with a single-mindedness that no doubt pushed all thought of the rider's to furthest edge of his mind, and the stranger looked through the thicket the horses had just barreled through. Aragorn had to admit to himself that he felt apprehensive about the man's interest in the Nazgul. Everyone feels something when they encounter the cry of the Ringwraiths, most feel despair, some of the elves said they sometimes feel a loneliness, many just feel pure dread. Assuming that this stranger did not know of the Ring or what the Riders were, he couldn't figure out how the boy had labeled the situation just by a 'feeling'.

…_like something was trying to drag someone to their death…_

It was almost chilling how accurate he was, Aragorn thought as he remembered the moment where Frodo looked like he was about to run to Nazgul instead of away from them. In essence, they were trying to drag Frodo to them through the ring and, with little doubt, the splinter of the blade embedded in Frodo's shoulder.

With the number of mysteries surrounding this man, Aragorn almost wished he was a spy for Mordor. If so, he wouldn't need to suffer these riddles much longer.

* * *

The sun was setting and apparently they have almost reached the destination that Glorfindel was leading them too. Harry was getting restless, he hadn't spent this much time with one person, let alone five, in 6 months. Well, not this long without killing that person, anyway.

He still couldn't get over the feeling that had passed before his blindfold was removed. It was like fiber in his body was being pulled, yet the pull wasn't strong enough to move him. It was as if someone nearby was being pulled, and he was caught in the current. But he knew by the cold darkness that was at the end of the pull would kill whatever touched it. That, apparently, was the effect the infamous 'riders' had. Duly noted.

Harry had also felt a pull to panic, one he hadn't felt in 2 years. The last time he was about to panic was when Hermione was dying in his arms. After all, she had been his rock, but Harry couldn't even bring himself to panic, even then. After Hogwarts was taken, Harry realized that he had no reason to panic anymore. The worst case scenario was popping up around him, people were dying, so why should he waist time panicking? Time was not measured in minutes, in those days it was measured in the lives lost and saved. But really, what was the worst that could happen? His death? Yeah, right.

Harry shook himself out of his reverie.

Where was the Firewhiskey when he needed it?

The company halted at a bridge. Across it Harry could see lights illuminating an elegant structure before them. Perhaps he was in France? He vaguely remembered Fleur talking about elegant castles and dazzling lights. A tall, blonde man stood at the end of the bridge patiently waiting for the group. He looked like he could be a relative of the wispy, blonde woman. As they approached though, Harry realized that his drunken hallucination of pointed ears was no fabrication of his deluded mind.

Oh Merlin, where the hell was he?

"Welcome travelers from beyond the Bruinen…and guest" The elf said delicately. Harry knew from the disdainful tone that he was the '_and guest_ '. So good to know he did not need to worry about making a first impression, they already had one.

"We welcome you to stay here for the night and invite you and your guest to seek the council of Lord Elrond"

Diplomacy. It was a lost art where Harry came from, it was almost ticklish to hear it again. 'Seek council' could easily be translated into interrogation, or in some cases, death. "Delightful." Harry said, trying to sound like every ounce of him meant it.

Harry took the raised eyebrows of the elf in front of him to mean that they probably expected a show of resistance before now. Good, always keep the enemy guessing. Unfortunately that was easier to do when drunk in most cases.

The elf led the group through the halls until Glorfindel took the hobbits to the right down the halls. They kept walking in silence down the corridor. Harry could have sworn he heard singing in the halls in the wing off to his right, or maybe it was the chiming of bells. The elf soon turned right, and Harry could no longer see the lights of the hall, but he could still hear the ringing voices. Finally they came to a door and Harry realized the delicate craftsmanship up close. The patterns looped to form larger ones and he realized that these people had patience. Undiluted patience, he thought as he looked and saw similar details in everything down to the looping patterns in the ribbed vaulting above his head.

The doors opened to reveal an elaborate sitting room. A terrace looked out into the starry nights, a bookcase sat opposite the room from the terrace, and a fire crackled merrily in an ornate bowl with three chairs seated around it. Two of the three chairs were occupied, in one sat an old man with a long grey beard, wearing worn grey robes, with a grey pointed hat in his lap and a long, smoking pipe between his lips. The other chair held a man who gave an air of no-nonsense wisdom, wearing long, elaborate robes.

"So, No-named guest, what brings you to my Halls?" Said the younger looking of the two.

"I believe you have a better idea of that than I would, oh no-named host of mine" Harry said with a sardonic tone as Aragorn pushed him into a chair as the still unnamed elf bound his ankles to the legs of the chair. Harry was trying to debate when he should stop playing 'prisoner' and start knocking heads together.

The old man smiled and chuckled out thin wisps of smoke."I suppose we have been rather conspiratorial. Haven't we? My name is Gandalf, or as some call me, Gandalf the Grey."

The younger looking man rubbed his temples, obviously the two seated figures were supposed to retain anonymity during the questioning. Harry looked at the hat in the man's hands, it was like the pointed hats the first year's wore during the sorting ceremony only grey, with a wide brim.

The old man's eyes were asking for a name in return. Harry took a deep breath and ignored the unasked question as the elf finished tying his ankles to the chair, "And what is your profession, Gandalf the Grey?"

The old man smiled, "I am a simple wizard, one who hopes to find peace after the fall of the Darkness in the East."

Harry almost smiled at the sugar-coated answer, "I hope you find it, but from experience, to take down darkness, you need to be even more than a 'simple wizard'. My only intent from when I woke up in the woods has been to find out where I am, and how to get back ho-back to where I was." Harry bit the inside of his mouth, he had almost said 'home'. He really should stop reminiscing, it brought such silly notions.

"Where do you call home then?" The elf in deep blue robes asked, perceiving what Harry meant to say.

"Home? Nowhere. I'm just lost, and I am trying to get back to where I was." Harry said with steel in his voice, he needed to get back to the Veil. Something was off about this place, he just couldn't tell what.

The wizard was staring intently at Harry now, "He is telling the truth Elrond. Questioning him any further would go against hospitality."

So this was the great Lord Elrond. Harry figured he should probably curb the habit of baiting everything that tied him up and considered him evil, it just wasn't polite. After all, this Gandalf had some skill in legillimency, fantastic. Harry reflexively relaxed and felt the shields in his mind rise up like thick vines from the earth.

Gandalf immediately sensed the change, "You must have a hard time getting people trust you. Now, I am sure you have a question you want to ask?"

On the surface, Harry was ice, unflinching, unprovoked, and unafraid. Inside, however, it was as if the ocean had just dropped upon him. The suspicion that had been nagging him since he arrived in Rivendell, the only worst case scenario Harry could think of right now was roaring like seafoam in his ears forcing the doubt to become a question.

"Am I dead?"

Hot anger bubbled in his stomach and Harry felt sick. The game of diplomatic cat and mouse was no longer amusing, it had taken a dark turn in the demons of Harry's mind. He wanted to tear something. Anything, even himself, if he died…no…this wasn't how it was supposed to be. He should be there with everyone. Not here.

Apparently, this wasn't the question the four people around him were expecting. "You may be pleased to be informed that you don't appear dead. Or act dead, for that matter." Gandalf said with a slight smile as he puffed his pipe.

The anger wasn't subsiding though, "Look," he said with icy calm, "I have no interest in you, your elaborate home, whatever you are concealing from your enemy, or even the enemy themselves. I don't pretend to have a reason to leave. If you don't want to see me again, I will happily oblige. Just tell me where I am so I can go."

Elrond furrowed his brows and looked and Gandalf. Well, Harry thought, at least he could still keep them guessing.

"You are in Rivendell, in the house of Elrond." Gandalf said leaning in towards Harry while trying to make eye contact.

"I _know_ that. Where is here in relation to England?! What country is this? Am I even in Europe?!" Harry answered coolly firmly fixing his gaze upon the fire in front of him to avoid the stare of the wizard.

There was pregnant pause as all four of his captor looked at each other in total confusion.

"My dear boy," Harry almost twitched at the similarities between Dumbledore and this grey man before him, "You are in Arda, I have walked this land and its borders for more than a life-age, I have never seen map or heard tongue of this, 'Ingland' or this land called 'Aurope', as you call it."

_'Aurope?'_ Oh that was rich. He was bound and being as polite as his alcohol deprived mind would let him be, and now they mock him. A dark chuckle escaped Harry's lips, a menacing gleam darted across his eyes. Sparks leaped over two meters above the fire and Aragorn subconsciously reached for his sword.

Harry looked between the old man and this 'Lord Elrond', "You know, I've been nice, I played along as prisoner, but if you don't tell me the truth in ten seconds you are going to find out just exactly who you are dealing with."

Harry felt the same whirling of magic around him he felt in the veil, he knew he was close to losing his grip, but he really didn't care. The ropes binding his legs writhed like snakes around his arm as Harry forced the magic in him to unravel the ropes, another neat trick he learned from Death Eaters trying to escape his grasp. He stood and pulled out the Elder wand from his belt and his Phoenix wand from his left sleeve.

The one reason the Deatheaters starting turning themselves in to the ICW Aide-Auror division is because Harry didn't let them live. He had become the definition of stealth by practicing wordless casting after he was almost caught after a failed ambush on Deatheaters; they heard the casting of a spell and ducked in time to return fire. After the death of Riddle he began using both wands in a duel…after all, what was the point of a second wand if you never used it?

He allowed the magic to hover in the air and then sat down again in the chair after making a good show of incinerating the bonds. "Now…let's try this _again_. Where am I?"

The elf and Aragorn had their swords out and were poised to attack until Elrond gestured them to put them away. Gandalf made a slow trip to stand up and put the cap on his head. He took a long look at the young wizard before him and after seeming satisfied he walked over to the bookshelf and pulled out a parchment scroll. Harry trained his wand on Gandalf as the elder man walked closer to him and set the scroll on the arm of the chair.

"That is map of Arda, and everything we know in relation to it. If you can find your land on that map, I can tell you how to get there. If you cannot, please stay here and rest for a few days while you consider the next step on your journey."

Harry was sick of journeys, they never seemed to end…even when one dies. He unrolled the map and the feeling that something was off about this world multiplied. The writing along the sides of the map was not in an alphabet that he had ever seen and nowhere was there any mention of a land that even sounded remotely familiar. Harry sorted through his memories and could find no mention of Eregion, Beleriand, or the Sea of Rhun.

Nothing like this land matched up to any map that Harry had ever seen before. It was a piece of a puzzle that didn't fit to England, Europe, or maybe even Earth. Which meant…oh no…

Was he even on Earth?

Somewhere he was sure Tom Riddle was laughing himself to seven pieces.

* * *

A/N: Added the ability to anonymous review. I have not started chapter three yet, but I am pretty pumped for it.

Next up: Many Meeting, Council of Elrond, and the best group of drinking buddies ever.


	3. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or Lord of the Rings.

* * *

Chapter 2

Harry looked over the river rushing in the vale below. He had received a summons to some meeting tomorrow. Harry wondered if he would even bother going. Ever since that fateful interrogation by the Elf-lord and Gandalf 'the Grey' he had sought solitude to drown himself in self-pity and whiskey.

Finding solitude was beyond him, however.

Every corner yielded some dark-haired elf seeking to invite him to a feast or some other foolishness. One event was an archery contest; Harry asked if the elf who asked was going to serve as a target. By his fifth day, they had stopped asking. By the eighth day they began to avoid him. After two weeks, Harry caught whispers of a darkness that lurked the hall. Apparently these 'elves' have huge issues with people suffering on their own terms.

Elrond reluctantly gave him his choice of rooms in this wing, he chose the one at the end with stone walls and a balcony. Old habits really, he probably wouldn't sleep if the room couldn't take spellfire and there was only one exit. Thankfully he had no neighbors.

After all, there was only so much he could handle when it came to elves. Their singing would envelope his wing like chiming bells; he slept peacefully for the first time in months. Of course, he would wake up in a paranoid fit and then check the room for 'traps' of hospitality; like the new outfit they provided him with, or the hot bath that was drawn while he slept. They would come and go as they pleased, never mind _his_ existence.

Elves obviously had no respect for people's privacy and personal fashion sense.

"'_Last Homely House_', my ass…" Harry said aloud as he stared out over the river carved vale.

The mist from the fjord kicked up from below and lightly touched his face. After an involuntary flinch, Harry walked back into the room. Sitting on the bed he stared at the articles next to him. His dragon armor was the only thing of monetary value he had left. Griphook arranged for custom armor to be made before he went after the Cup of Hufflepuff. The Goblins gave it to him for a fraction of its worth, not because he was 'the Chosen One' but because he had a short life expectancy. The sneaky buggers were probably planning on collecting it from his corpse and selling at a higher price once it was 'the armor of 'the Boy-Who-Lived, Chosen One''. They probably were just trying to sweeten the deal to get him to buy it.

_Hah_. Bet his Gringotts break in and subsequent use of dark magic would probably have lowered the value though.

Greedy bastards.

He stood and examined the rip that a lance of bright blue flame had fashioned through the scaly, black tabard. Harry picked up the leather in one hand and the bottle of Firewhiskey that Aragorn had reluctantly returned to him in his right.

Mental note: never let go of the bottle. Ever.

After taking a swig, Harry assessed the damaged. He set the bottle down and picked up the Elder Wand and pointed at the slash.

"_Reparo_"

He watched with mild satisfaction as the slit closed and began fixing the other nicks and burns across the armor. His phoenix wand always felt more 'right' when he performed magic, but he couldn't repair magical artifacts with it. He picked up the surcoat and glanced at the emblem on the back. He almost dropped the black fabric, he watched, almost mesmerized now, that he stared as two snakes devoured each other in the shape of the symbol for infinity.

Merlin, why couldn't he be this profound when he was sober?

He vaguely remembered why he had done it. It was Amycus Carrow's last words.

* * *

Harry cursed as he extinguished the flames across his hip. He looked from behind the crumbling pillar and examined the hall before him. The deteriorated columns that once stood as the sentinel's of the Floo entrance of the Ministry of Magic now guarded shattered marble tiles and gaping holes that fell to the floors below.

A beam of Orange light shot past Harry's nose and crashed in a bloom of smoke and rubble against the wall behind him. Guess that would have stung a bit if it snagged him. He followed the path of the spell to a column base across the room. Harry followed his gut and pulled out both wands and aimed twin 'reducto's at the pillar and shattered the marble to bits of gravel.

Carrow flew through the air like a bloodied rag-doll and impacted the stone floor as the force of the explosion rolled him into the hole that lay in the center of the floor.

Harry walked to the edge of the hole, "Accio wands." He knew Carrow carried a spare wand, almost everyone did those days. This one wasn't the last he could track down because he was an idiot. The Carrow's were in the Elite of the Deatheaters, hence why Voldemort wanted him training his future soldiers at Hogwarts.

The Carrow's didn't waste time and eventually began separating the wolves from the sheep. They gathered students deemed worthy at the beginning of the year and started to teach them in an 'advanced' class. Some rebelled and refused to attend like Neville Longbottom and Ernie MacMillan. Snape was able to prevent bodily harm towards the two until mid-September.

Other students weren't as lucky. Before the Takeover of Hogwarts, students who were unfit for Amycus Carrow's class were to become guinea pigs, or more appropriately, pin-cushions for the class. After Voldemort swept through and took the school with an iron fist there were no more muggle-borns and few half-bloods at Hogwarts, they either escaped or were soon killed. Cauldron accidents became more fatal and Quidditch soon became a death trap for half-bloods and rebels of the Dark Lord.

Amycus Carrow was appointed the next Headmaster. Snape died at the hands of Voldemort during the raid when Severus refused orders. To Snape's credit he hid the lack of punishment on 'unfit' students well. Unfortunately everyone had a price, and soon word reached the Dark Lord's ears that Severus Snape was secretly opposing him. The paranoia of the Dark Lord reached its climax when Severus refused to kill the students that tried to escape. Severus died dueling the Dark Lord. An act that had he survived, he would have said was a foolish, stupid, and very Gryffindor thing to do.

Amycus Carrow fled after his Dark Lord's death. He would hide among the ruins of a destroyed England and rumors spread of isolated houses where the entire family was killed and no one found the bodies until weeks had passed. The ICW placed emergency Apparation Wards over England to prevent criminals from escaping onto the main continent so Carrow was trapped by the ICW warlocks.

Harry eventually got sick of trying to track Carrow by magic and sent him a letter to meet him face to face. Harry did not know how he felt about Carrow accepting his offer. He felt uneasy that he was shoved in the same exact corner as a Deatheater he had been hunting for the past three months.

The only alternatives for Harry and Amycus were death by ICW or death by the hands of the other. Harry received a covert message from Madame Maxime that she and Hagrid would be able to provide lodgings in France if he could get out of England. Harry would have loved to live out his days with Hagrid and the creatures that he kept, but he knew he could not have that peace.

He was being hunted by the ICW, he was tired of running, he was tired of hiding, hell, he was tired of living. Harry knew that after he finished off Carrow he would need to end this wild snitch chase one way or another.

Harry stood at the rim of the break in the floor and look down at Amycus's body lying broken on the rubble below. He lowered himself down the hole with his wand and kept another trained on the prone form in front of him.

"So I bet you think this over, boy?" rattled Amycus Carrow in the pool of light from above.

"For you, yes, I suppose it soon will be. Unless I can expect any further tricks from you." Harry said from the shadow under the remnants of ceiling.

"No, I think I am just about out of those." Carrow turned his head and winced. "I must say you will be a perfect continuation of our legacy. Don't you think as well?"

Harry paced around the white oval of light that shone on the floor and leaned against the pillar, "Don't delude yourself while dying, I have no interest in your blood views. I just wanted to put you down like the rabid dog you are, just like I had to do two years ago."

A gurgling chuckle rose from the center of the room,"Yes, your skills in dark arts were quite exceptional. You would have benefitted with a teacher like me-" Carrow hacked a cough and Harry watched blood rain lightly on the white marble floor.

"Welcome to the Boogie Man Club" Carrow finished once he concluded coughing.

Harry looked up sharply, "What?"

"You are the new reason children can't play at night, you are the new reason to never go down alleys alone, what lies in the lurking shadows. You are the new fear, the new Darkness. You don't even stand in the light now as I am dying. They won't pity you. They won't save you. You can't honestly believe that they won't hunt you down and then put _you_ down like the rabid dog _you_ are?" rasped Carrow

Harry flinched. "I have no idea what you are talking about." Harry said with as much strength as he could manage.

"It never ends. From Grindelwald rose Dumbledore. From Dumbledore rose our Lord. From him rose you. Now, who will you raise?" Carrow murmured.

Harry wanted nothing more than to kill the bastard in front of him before he could say more, but his body refused to move. Carrow had struck a nerve in the depths of Harry's soul.

Carrow coughed and blood splattered across the floor and from where Harry was standing it looked like a grotesque shaped heart.

"You won't ever defeat us. Even if we die, you can't, we are as old as humanity. You call us rabid."Carrow's coughing had become more violent, "You are us now, it never ends, you will now be consumed by it as you tried to consume."

Carrow's breathing grew ragged and then the halls grew quiet. Why did Carrow have to be right?

It wasn't over.

He pulled the outer robe off of Carrow and put it on. It was a bit big on him, but he just needed something temporary until the sun came up.

He removed the cloak and looked at the Dark Mark on the back. Hmm…he wondered what the ICW would say if they thought he was now a deatheater. He blanched as remembered the words of the dying man.

Harry stared at the symbol that seemed to bleed across the back. He pulled out the Firewhiskey and uncorked it.

"To you, Forever" He hated that word and entity. Forever.

He took a shot and embraced the warm dry feeling in his mouth. He stayed still until he could feel lightness about his shoulders. He took another swig and sat down as the wave of dizzying freedom hit him.

He couldn't remove the mark, but he could change it. Hermione and Ginny knew more about this stuff than he did.

He tried to come up with a similar image in his mind and cast, "_Adeo_"

He watched as the snake morphed and twisted in to a loop. Soon another snake twisted from the image and began consuming the other. The snakes looped and twisted until they resemble an infinite symbol.

**

* * *

**

Poetic indeed.

Harry picked up the Firewhiskey bottle in his empty hand and set down the black cloak. He picked up his invisibility cloak and examined it. Ignotus Perevell was a genius if he made the cloak as Dumbledore had suspected. The cloak showed no signs of wear or tear despite the number of battles it had seen or hell it had gone through.

Harry picked up the last Hallow, the one that cost Dumbledore his life. The small ring taunted him with silence.

Harry realized over a year ago he could no longer call back the souls of his parents or the souls of Remus and Sirius. For some reason the Ring no longer worked.

Holding the three Hallows, Harry looked into the mirror across the room. He almost stepped back in shock; he hadn't seen his own reflection in over five months.

His eyes were barely visible behind overgrown fringe that hung from his shoulder length mop of hair. What used to be angry stubble had now formed a short, scraggly beard. His scar was hidden and his eyes looked…different. He looked away. He couldn't hold eye contact with the stranger in his looking glass.

He quickly took a shot of Firewhiskey from the bottle and was about to look back into the mirror.

"You know, my father once said that drinking that is worse for your brain than a wild pack of Druban Wangbats…"

Harry heard the bottle _clunk_ onto the dresser. He felt the engraving of the counter edge as he clutched with white knuckles. He stared into the image in the looking glass. His mind couldn't process what was behind his reflection.

What was behind him.

"…of course, that never stopped him on the celebration of the third half moon after the Winter Solstice."

Harry was terrified to turn around, but he knew he had to. He needed to know if he was crazy, or at least more so than usual.

He turned and saw a petite woman made of silvery mist wearing a Hogwart's uniform and a necklace of butterbeer caps.

He almost choked, "Luna…?"

The figure looked genuinely alarmed for a moment, "Of course not!" The figure harshly whispered at him.

Harry's hopes fell as the ghostly apparition in front of him looked at the closed door and out the window.

The figure tip-toed towards him, "Okay, maybe you can call me Luna here. I think it should be safe, the Eave-Snatchers won't be looking for me here anyways."

"Wait…What? " Harry wasn't sure what he was talking to. Luna was dead, and this thing was driving him off a ledge. He hadn't felt this flummoxed since he last spoke to…

… Luna Lovegood.

Oh Merlin. It was her.

It was really _Luna_.

"I think it could be safe, but you never know. Names are worse that Spell-O-Tape…they pick up everything and won't let it go. They even will pick up the infamous Pigmy Arumpat, the largest of the Triflet species. The Spell-O-Tape that is, but you already knew that." Harry watched as the ghostly figure prattled in front of him as he tried to force his brain into realizing he was still conscious.

"Otherwise, why else would you have picked such a ridiculous name here?" Luna continued.

"What?" Harry looked up abruptly, "Luna, I gave no name, I'm a nobody here"

"See…Anobahdee is a name that would never suit you…It might be a good name for a Nargle, but not you Harry."

Harry shook his head to stop himself from trying to follow Luna's train of thought. He was nowhere near drunk enough to try. Actually he probably would never be drunk enough to try.

"Luna? Is that really you?" Harry asked as he tried to walk on the straight line of the stone flags below his feet to see if he was drunk.

The figure stopped and looked at Harry, "Who else would I be?" The figure twirled closer to him and began to walk the grout line behind him on her tip-toes , "Unless I look like Bloomera Page, she always writes to the Quibbler and sent such lovely letters about the quality of our journalism. I almost miss those letters, they had always given me something to stride towards…"

Harry turned and watched a smile pass over Luna's face as she flitted around Harry to stare through the Firewhiskey bottle. Amber light poured through glass and danced through her grey complexion giving her face a rosy hue. For a moment, she was no longer a ghost, but had flesh and skin and could point to the movements of grass in the wind and claim a colony of Wrackspurts were headed for them.

"Luna…?" Harry watched what could have been in front of him "I'm sorry, Luna"

Luna turned to face him with her usual wide stare, "Whatever for?"

Harry bowed his head, he didn't know if he could keep eye contact with anybody at this rate, "I didn't mean for you to die…I wanted-I just wish I was there with you. You're my friend Luna, and I wasn't there for you. I'm sorry." He saw a small pale hand under his chin and looked up hesitantly.

"No Harry, you weren't there. But Harry, you can't be in two places at once. Well…not all the time at least. My death wasn't too horrible." Luna cocked her head to the left as if listening to music only she could hear, "Harry, you don't need to ask for my forgiveness, you always had it." Luna continued to listen to the music in her head as she waltzed to railing Harry was looking over moments ago.

"Luna, I mean it. It wasn't supposed-" Harry started following, but was interrupted by Luna who immediately stopped twirling.

"I didn't know you became a seer! It's the beard isn't it?" Luna ran over and reached up to touch his face and Harry resisted the urge to swat Luna's hand away.

"I'm not a seer! I just, it wasn't supposed to end like that, _no one was supposed to die_!" Harry shouted almost hysterically.

Luna finished her waltz with deliberation and looked out over the valley. She turned to Harry with a serene yet sad look he hadn't ever seen on Luna before, "Everyone is supposed to die Harry, we live, we die, and if we are lucky, we see a Crumpled Horned Snorkack before the end."

After a sobering moment, Harry walked over and stood next to Luna, "I'm sorry you never got to see one, Luna"

Luna turned back to the valley and placed her head on his arm, "What makes you think that I stopped looking?" she looked up with a smile, "I'm dead Harry, not blind"

Harry became rigid and looked away. No matter how Luna said it, he didn't want to think of her as lifeless, not when she was right here. Not when he saw her twirling and spouting off facts of her own brand of zoology.

"Luna-"

"I need to go now Harry" Luna gave a tired smile, "I'm sleepy Harry. I hope you're satisfied after waking me up."

"Waking you up?" Harry looked sharply at Luna, "How did I do that?""

"With what you have in your left hand." Luna said while pointing to his closed hand.

Harry opened his hand and looked at the cracked stone he was holding, he had nearly forgotten it. Without looking up he asked Luna, "This ring is broken Luna, I couldn't call anyone from it. How could you come here even when I didn't ask?"

"Don't be silly Harry." Luna said with a wispy smile as she stared into bright sun above, "We could never ask or demand magic to do anything. We _need_ magic to do something."

"I need _you_ Luna, I need all of you guys." Harry didn't know if Luna knew exactly how much he wanted to be with them all, "What was the point of ending a war I had already lost?" Harry asked as he stared intently at the crack in the ring that cost Dumbledore his life.

Luna put a faded hand onto his shoulder, "I should think it would be obvious. One of these days Harry, you'll know the answer to that question"

Harry watched as Luna's body began to grow more transparent, "Luna…Luna! Why do you have to leave? You can't just disappear like a figment of my imagination." Harry couldn't believe he had to say goodbye twice. "Please….Please stay."

"Harry, did you ever stop to think that you might be a figment of _my_ imagination?" Luna said with wide, pale eyes that seemed to be looking at a point above Harry's left ear.

Harry felt tears on the side of his face as he barked out a laugh. Luna could turn any situation around on you, no matter what the subject. He could see his mirror shining through her body now, she was fading away. Resigned he asked, "Will I ever see you again?"

"I don't see why not, I find your personality rather agreeable when you are sound of mind" Luna said with a grin as she turned around and disappeared.

"Luna?" Harry called out to the room, "…Luna?"

The river below was the only answer that called back to him.

Harry was left staring into the place Luna once occupied.

His own reflection stared back.

* * *

Imladris was a beautiful waypost of the elves. Lord Elrond had raised him here since the death of his father under the name Estel. It was true that this was the last 'Homely House', it was almost impossible to feel gloom among the singing and stories of the elves.

Almost.

There was one persistent cloud that seemed to hover in the back of everyone's minds over the past two weeks.

Much to his displeasure he was still trying to keep an eye on the stranger under orders from Lord Elrond. He was declared a nameless wretch who took joy in trying to destroy the merry-making of the elves. Aragorn wasn't sure how he should treat the stranger the elves had dubbed 'Lokion' in reference to his armor and snake-like attitude.

Gandalf had taken him aside when this 'Lokion' sequestered himself to his room at the end of a lonely hall. Gandalf suspected that the young man was from Bree, not as worldly or sober as the men in the east tended to be. His opinion soon changed when the young man unbound himself and incinerated the elvish rope that bound them. Elrond was livid that Gandalf let the young man stay in Rivendell after such a belligerent display of trickery.

Glorfindel was oddly enough siding with Gandalf about the stranger. Glorfindel suspected he may live in the far northern lands beyond the Lonely Mountain. The man was pale enough to fit the description, his accent was foreign enough, and Aragorn knew little of the land so it was quite possible that they could learn tricks such as escaping knots and burning rope. But to burn elvish rope…

Aragorn knew he was kidding himself though. There was an intangible force that hung in the air when the young man stood up. It made him want to draw his sword and run at the same time. It wasn't dreadful like the wraiths but almost like Gandalf, a calm and proud anger that threatened existence if defied.

It was disconcerting to feel that power exude from a man who was at least forty summers beneath him. Gandalf sensed the power as well and suspected that the man may have learned his powers in what were the last vestiges of Angmar. Aragorn shuddered as he remembered the stories passed down by the Dunedain that were now entrusted to him. He heard the story of the hobbits encounter in the Barrow Downs. He wondered if it was worth keeping the man here if he was tainted by the witchcraft of the Angmar.

The man was dangerous, even when he had too much to drink Aragorn felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand as he braced himself for an attack at anytime. The stranger walked without footfalls, even over dry branches, and his gaze always seemed to evaluate how long it would take to kill what was before him. Infuriatingly enough, an attack never came. The man would do a thorough inspection of the room before lying in bed. An elf-maid was reported to have run screaming from the room when the stranger 'appeared from thin air'. After the last report the man ran to Frodo to assure himself that the young hobbit still held the Ring.

That was the other puzzling thing about the potential enemy; he had no visible interest in the Ring. He appeared once in the Wing of Healing to look upon Frodo. After watching the Halfling sleep for a minute from across the room the man seemed satisfied and never sought out or bothered Frodo in anyway. In fact, Frodo was surprised when he was told yesterday that the man who had been captured during their journey had been staying in Rivendell the past two weeks.

Even when Aragorn watched the hall, the nameless stranger would find a way to leave without anyone knowing. He seemed to escape with some method from the balcony and would reappear the next morning to bite the head off of an innocent elf. Aragorn had heard that the man was sighted in brief glimpses after sunset around the halls, food would go missing from a banquet table even though nobody saw anyone take it. It was this ghost that wandered the halls that for the first time in his life made Aragorn doubt the security of the home of Lord Elrond.

* * *

Aragorn watched the arrival of the men, elves and surprisingly, even dwarves, who sought the council of Lord Elrond. He bade the dwarves to make themselves comfortable in an empty hall, thus neither the elves or the dwarves would bother each other and create a ruckus that would damage relations between their kind for another hundred years.

He spotted the Prince of Mirkwood who arrived late last night. He seemed disturbed by something. Aragorn knew all would be revealed today though. What was to be a small council was slowly becoming greater as guests arrived in Imladris. Gandalf the Grey had told him once that Elrond does nothing in halves, and Aragorn wondered if Elrond may have used his ability in foresight in order to foretell the number at this Council. The feast he had deemed too extravagant earlier may not be enough…especially if more dwarves arrive.

He took a break from his watchpost and went to grab a small snack from one of the elf-maids preparing the feast this evening. Arwen once commented he would always feel like a child in Imladris. In some ways, she couldn't be more right.

He was just about to turn around a corner when he saw a ripple in the air. He placed a hand on his sword as he watched the ripple tear open to reveal a man. The stranger that lurked the halls had just appeared in mid-air before him.

Impossible.

He rubbed his eyes and turned around the corner just in time to watch the stranger slink into the hall. The same hall the dwarves had entered moments ago.

Aragorn knew he had no right to stop the stranger, but he could help the growing trepidation it the pit of his stomach.

Lord Elrond was definitely not going to like this.

* * *

Harry couldn't sleep. Actually he didn't want to sleep. Sleeping meant the inevitable dream that would haunt him. He couldn't stand to watch the images of a headless Luna telling him she was okay.

Hell, he wasn't okay.

He couldn't stay in the room. He was afraid he would see her again there, but this time she would be just laying there and he wouldn't be able to do anything.

He pulled the Invisibilty Cloak and padded silently across the halls. The trick with silencing footsteps wasn't blocking sound as some foolishly tried in years past. The secret was to never let your feet hit the ground. Nothing on the ground will belay your concealment. No twig snaps, no vibrations to tip off snakes, and plus it was just that bad-ass as Dean Thomas once put it.

He picked up his regrettably lighter whiskey bottle, He hadn't realized he had drunk this much. Ron would have given him hell for drinking his share of the Firewhiskey. He stopped at a hall that was left empty last he checked this morning. He pulled the door open and crossed the hall to bump into a small creature. Curly hair, short stature, and no shoes…this was one of those Hobbit-Half-somethings…

"Begging your pardon, sir, don't mean anything by it" The hobbit looked up and Harry recognized him as the one that accused him of wanting to steal stew.

"Oh! It's you! I didn't know you were still in Rivendell, meaning no offense of course, but with you not being around at meals, one would naturally assume, of course, you… weren't… here…?" The hobbit ended lamely under the unflinching gaze.

Harry looked over the hobbit and stopped when he looked at the bottle in his little hand, "Is that…wine?"

Taking this as encouragement, the little hobbit bobbed his head up and down, "Why yes, elves finest in fact, not that anything they make isn't the finest. The name is Peregrin Took, by the ways, and you're welcome to join my friends and me for a drink or two."

Harry looked at his nearly empty bottle of Firewhiskey and then to the full bottle of wine that the little hobbit seemed to be struggling with.

* * *

Aragorn watch the stranger talk to young Peregrin. Well, the hobbit wasn't killed and it appeared that two more hobbits were entering as the dwarves were situating themselves. Elves were passing through every so often with prepared dishes and would whisper about the presence of "_Lokion"_ every so often. There were enough skilled fighters in the Hall to take down the Stranger if he so much as raised his hand.

Well the feast will begin at sunset in the Hall of Fire, it is not like they can get that drunk in three hours.

He walked down the hall trying to assure himself that it would be okay while he searched for Gandalf.

* * *

The sunlight was just beginning to turn a yellow hue as Aragorn walked to the hall to fetch the dwarves when he heard singing through the oaken doors.

"…_where racing clouds were torn and rent.__  
__It passed the lonely Mountain bare__  
__and swept *hic* above the dragon's lair:__  
__there black and dark lay…"_

Aragorn cracked open the door and peered in. There upon a single bench was Gloin and Bilbo with an arm wrapped around the stranger swaying to the offbeat tune. Gimli was snoring into his drink while Merry and Pippin were merrily smoke on the floor interjecting a random word or hiccup when they saw fit. The dissonant crooning echoed off the marble, a lonely tankard lay a few paces away from the table, and Aragorn could smell the mead and wine from where he stood.

"… _left the world and took its flight__  
__over the wide seas of the night,__  
__The moon set sai-a-al upon the gale,__  
__and stars were fanned to lea-hee-hic-ping li-i-ght"_

The off-key song ended in a bellowing, grotesque harmony that Aragorn knew would haunt him in many a dream to come. Never had such a…noise…ever been heard in the house of Elrond. A few elves that were passing through the hall looked on in disdain and muttered comments about dwarves in elvish. Leav it to this stranger to get Bilbo Baggins, honored guest of Elrond completely intoxicated before a grand feast in the Hall of Fire. Aragorn wondered if he should trust Gandalf's advice to let the "Lokion" be. At this rate, he'll be getting the elves drunk to the point where they can't shoot straight.

As Aragorn closed the door behind him, he _knew_ Lord Elrond will not be pleased.

* * *

Harry knew he was drunk. No, he laughed as he rethought that, he was _shitfaced_. He wasn't sure why he started drinking, but that really didn't matter right now. What mattered was he felt great. Actually he felt brilliant.

Gloin…yes, that was the name of the short man beside him with the strange beard. Gloin was teaching him dwarvish songs.

Brilliant.

Someone once used that word a lot. Someone he should know the name of… He-yes, it was a _he_- was close to him.

"You know laddie, I should probably teach my son the value of knowing how to hold his liquor.." Gloin said as he wiped a bit of ale off of his dark beard.

Harry nudged the shorter man on his right shoulder, Bilbo – what an odd name- and looked down to Gloin and replied, "It is a valuable task-…weapon-…skill. Yes, a good skill in the world."

"You know Stranger, I never heard where you hailed from. Have you heard of the great dwarven city of Erebor in your land?" Gloin said as he tried to align the bottle with the rim of his tankard.

Harry cocked his head to the right and said after a pause, "No…I can't say that I ever…That I ever *hic* heard of it."

After spilling a bit of the wine, the elves indeed knew their wine, Gloin lifted his drink to his lips. He paused and a dark look came over his face. "I worry for my home, strange things are happening, nothing like what I have ever encountered."

Harry paused again and thought he remembered he had trouble where he came from and nodded, "Yeah, I think I can relate"

"A dwarf used to be able to carve his home from good rock and sturdy stone. We could build and fashion the finest arms of the finest *hic* craftsmanship in all the lands of Middle-Earth. Now, dark figures come out of the night and whisper dark things under veiled threats." Gloin took a long drink and then set the tankard on the table and gripped it with both hands, "I haven't had message or emissary from my cousin, Balin in over twenty years. I worry for him. He left almost thirty years ago to lay claim to our lost home. He succeeded, of course he would, Balin was a strong fighter and a good leader of dwarves." Gloin stared deeply into his drink, "He was an excellent drinker"

Harry may have been mistaken, but he thought he heard a snuffle escape from the mess of beard on the dwarf's face.

Bilbo rustled awake, and with a twitching ear he looked off into the distance at a lit hall across the gorge, "Ah, is that singing I hear?" He turned to look up at Harry, "My dear friend, have you ever heard the singing of the elves? It is the gentlest and most beautiful sound known the races of men and hobbits alike, it like the elegant chime of bells mixed with the warmth of all sunrises of an age."

The group sat and pondered the simple statement until Pippin dozed off and fell to the floor in a loud slump.

Bilbo began to get up and teetered towards the door and Harry got up to help him and watched the floor dance before him. As the two clung to each other they wobbled over towards the door and made their way to the lit building across the bridge.

"You know my lad," Bilbo said after a bit of a pause, "you should meet my nephew…a good upright lad. Not used to the world yet, I think he should be going home soon. At least he gets to experience Rivendell once in his life. How are you liking it."

Harry knew he didn't like it here, but he couldn't honestly remember why. After a pause he thought of the answer, "I like my own clothes still."

Bilbo let out a deep laugh that knocked him over onto his behind, as Harry bent down to help him up he too crashed into the marble slab below. After looking at each other they couldn't hold it in and laughed under hot tears stung at their eyes. After settling down, Harry stared at the high ceiling that seemed to be falling and spinning at the same time.

"I don't think I have ever shared drink before this." Harry said as the odd thought popped into his head.

Bilbo had worked himself to the point where he was sitting up on the cold floor; even sitting he looked unstable. After he stopped swaying he looked down at the man next to him, "That you remember right now you mean. For lad, some may consider my judgment too hasty, but I think you are completely down the barrel."

Harry paused to consider the statement, he did feel a little unstable when he moved, and he was on the floor. "Hmmm... you might be onto something. But I don't think I ever laughed while drinking before…"

"And that is a shame then my boy," Bilbo said as he moved to all fours to get himself off the ground, "but you know how to fix that, correct?"

Harry couldn't really think of an answer as he was getting dizzy watching Bilbo get up.

After slowly pushing himself off the ground, Bilbo tottered for a bit, and after steadying again he looked down and gave a big smile, "Never drink alone again, and always in good cheer."

Harry watched from the ground as the aged Halfling tottered and swayed out of the hall.

Never alone, huh?

* * *

A/N: So yeah…I am completely horrible. I didn't get to the Council of Elrond. I never realized that almost 25% of the first book takes place in Rivendell. So I didn't want to postpone posting for 6 more pages of Rivendell. I thought I reached a good point to end this. I'm trying to balance out the amount of HP element and LOTR elements that appear, so it was stupid of me to adjust my chapters to those of LOTR solely. I didn't want to obliterate HP out of the crossover, otherwise Harry is not Harry Potter anymore, just a wizard who is in a new world that will kick ass and totally forgets he had friends by Chpt.5. Sorry people, the healing process is a long slow dramatic process.

Oh yeah, "Lokion is derived from 'leuca' which is the equivalent of serpent, I threw a 'k' in there despite that there are no 'k's in Quenya, and 'ion' is a traditional ending for a male name. Or at least that is what the internet told me so.

Yeah, forewarnment, I suck at all things elvish. I know it, so very rarely will it show up.


	4. Chapter 3

I don't own LoTR or HP, rather, the fascination in both owns me.

Major thanks to the great authors J.K. Rowling and J.R.R. Tolkien for their supplemental materials and thanks to the Harry Potter Lexicon and the Encyclopedia of Arda for enabling one to find that one spell or the dwarvish name for a mountain 2,000 times faster.

I know I complain about Rivendell, but only because it is overdone. If I was smart I would have started Harry in Minas Tirith, now _that_ has a crap-ton of possibilities. Oh well, in for a penny…

I have been wanting to write that drunken scene for almost a year It was actually supposed to start this chapter, but I liked it as an ending…

Now for the tragically overused author-reader translational notice:

"_Guess what this means?"_ – Elvish, except when used as inflection in Westron...

"I need to learn elvish" – Westron

Confused yet?

* * *

**Chapter 3**

BANG!

Missed.

Harry look at the pocket he just blasted into the marble balustrade that lined the balcony of his room. He missed the merrily chirping bird by two centimeters. The twittering that would normally herald a beautiful, late morning wake up was instead a dissonant bludger that resonated inside his brain.

He hated hangovers.

He remembered last night and that there was singing and a lot of laughing. He looked under the covers. Underwear: Check. Limbs: Check. So nothing irreversible happened. He looked out the window and regretted that motion as the combination of his head leaving the pillow and the light of the sun lanced through his brain.

As he buried his head under the pillow he flailed his wand-arm in a motion that would have produced a cup for water had he remembered his wand. Harry was a proud survivor of the school of Mad-Eye. The grouchy, psychotically paranoid auror was an educator, mentor, and curse of Harry's existence for 3 months before they parted ways. Mad Eye died the week Harry killed Edmor Yaxley and two months before Harry hunted down Carrow. It the few months Harry lived with Mad-eye he learned many lessons about dueling, life, and how to kill an enemy disguised as your pillow. He also developed a borderline neurosis and gained a healthy sense of paranoia he wasn't sure he could shake off for another seven months. One of those 'life-saving' lessons was Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody's first rule of drinking:

Suffer the hangover.

Moody didn't believe in avoiding the consequences … ever. The hangover was your body telling you that you're a moron. As if Alastor Moody screaming at you to hell and back the next morning for sleeping through your guard shift wasn't enough. Of course, Harry had a sneaking suspicion that Moody didn't believe in potions because he thought they were poisoned.

Old-school, paranoid bastard.

He sat up slowly and massaged his head while he reached for the pitcher, ignored the glass next to it, and chugged straight from the container. He summoned his wand and refilled the pitcher and continued gulping down the cool liquid.

After drinking his fill Harry staggered to the bureau and instinctively went to grab the bottle of Firewhiskey.

Empty.

The hissy fit that would have followed stopped suddenly as Harry caught himself in the reflection of the mirror. He stared at his wrist… a faint purple bruise was faintly throbbing just above his left hand. He gingerly poked his wrist and hissed as the forgotten pain stabbed like hot needles across his wrist.

Harry looked from the empty bottle to his wrist and looked into the gaunt face into the mirror. As he looked away he couldn't help but wonder if maybe there was more to last night than songs of lonely mountains.

* * *

Aragorn closed the door behind him muting the drunken cavorting of the dwarves, hobbits, and the stranger from the hall. He walked to the Hall of Fire to inform Lord Elrond of this latest intrusion of hospitality. As he entered the hall he couldn't help but smile at the warm hearth and the peaceful chorus of the elvish music. Walking through the crowd of strangers and elves he sighted Lord Elrond and his youngest child - his only daughter.

The Lady Arwen gave a knowing smile. Aragorn remembered running around in his youth and the boyish games he would play in Imladris. He remembered that he once mistook her age and wisdom for something much less once. He was such a fool once…still…probably always would be. His breathe still caught when she walked towards him.

She leaned against him and whispered into his ear, "_Some of our guests appear to be missing. How long before my father notices, I wonder?"_

Aragorn winced as he realized that she probably would laugh at his current predicament, _"That all depends on what he'll hear first, you telling him, or the drunken cajoling of a visitor long due for a farewell"_

Arwen looked down the hall where he had just entered, "_Or he could always find out from his honored guest…"_

Aragorn whirled around and tried to stifle the groan that was crawling up his throat. Bilbo Baggins was staggeringly drunk, if the fact that he was trying to chat up a statue of an elf maiden was anything to go by.

This was the havoc the stranger could bring without the use of the magics of Angmar. Valar help us.

This was one of the many, albeit smaller, reasons he refused to take his place on the throne of Gondor. It was because situations like these could cause the destruction of treaties, alliances, friendships, and even families. Admittedly, the fact that Bilbo Baggins was offering a statue a draw of his pipe was inconsequential to the future chaos that the stranger could cause if he stays in Rivendell any longer.

Aragorn looked over the crowd to see if anyone noticed; it was a blessing that the crowds of elves were focused on the feast that was to come. So far none had noticed the odd behavior of the halfling. He was forced to revise that thought as he made eye-contact with a disgruntled grey-eyed elf. Glorfindel had not only guessed the cause behind Bilbo Baggins' behavior, but also the person responsible. Aragorn knew Glorfindel blamed him for everything down to the stranger's existence right now. It didn't help matters that Aragorn knew it was his fault for insisting so adamantly that the stranger be brought to the Last Homely House.

Arwen shot him an amused smile as wide-eyed Frodo ran up to his uncle followed by young Samwise. The young halflings each propped up a shoulder to steady their elder as they walked him over closer to the hearth. Bilbo was all smiles to all around him. As a worried Frodo was trying to ask his uncle how long he had been in Rivendell, Bilbo was trying to engage a young man of Gondor in conversation. The man was caught between the discomfort of breaking the stern court-façade he was probably used to as a captain of Gondor and the curiosity of seeing a halfling for what was no doubt the first time. The old halfling mentioned the Sackville-Bagginses, perhaps an ale-induced attempt to explain how he was related to the confused dark-haired hobbit next to him.

Aragorn turned and saw an expression of obvious disapproval on the face of Lord Elrond. Aragorn looked from Elrond to the door and realized that something needed to be done about the stranger.

With a glance at Glorfindel, who was staring at the door with contempt, Aragorn knew it would be taken care of one way or another.

Tonight.

* * *

The stranger lay sprawled across the floor, too drunk apparently to even roll over. Aragorn looked across the hall. Gloín was passed out next to his son. It appeared that neither dwarf would be attending the feast tonight. Neither would the two halflings that lay passed out under the table. As the elves passed through the hall and muttered comments about dwarves and ale, Aragorn couldn't help but groan.

This wasn't how it was supposed to go. Lord Elrond had some notion that emissaries would be arriving in Rivendell from other lands. The Ring of Power had made its presence known, and it was imperative to unite allies across lands and among the peoples of Middle-Earth. Now the dwarves were absent from the feast, what's worse, passed out from drink. The Captain of Gondor would find out that the Ring of Power was being held for almost sixty years by the drunk halfling trying to elucidate his family tree. On top of it all, a man whose sole purpose seemed to be destroying the peace of Rivendell was sprawled across the floor without a care in the world.

Aragorn did not see how the situation could fall any deeper into a pit of diplomatic torture.

As if answering that desperate thought, a voice rose from below "You know, you remind me of a dog I once knew."

The man, the dark stranger, the phantom, the 'lokion', stared up at him, "…but you look healthier than he did after he escaped prison…What was his name again?...Siri..Snuffu…Snuffles! Yes…He was a good friend…" Suddenly an odd look passed over the strangers face and he started to try and roll over.

Aragorn shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose; the stranger was completely gone and talking nonsense. Aragorn went to pick up the stranger but stopped as he watched the man retch across the floor. The sickly-sweet fumes of his effluence burned the ranger's nose.

Reminding himself that he, at one time, had probably smelled worse, he picked the dark-clad man up from the floor with one arm. After half-throwing the surprisingly light man into the chair, Aragorn walked over to fire pit and grabbed a bucket of water that was used to extinguish the hearth at night. He hated to resort to these tactics; this was behavior he expected of Bree, not the House of Elrond. He heaved the bucket's content over the stranger.

Sputtering, the man flailed against the onslaught of water, after gasping for breath the stranger parted his bangs and stared up at his attacker, "What the hell was that for?"

Aragorn could barely marvel at the mountain behind that question, "You have stayed well beyond the bounds of hospitality. It is time for you to leave, guest of Elrond."

The man stared stupidly at Aragorn, "What do you think I've been trying to do?"

With raised brow, he replied, "Becoming intoxicated on your host's store of wine and being a general boor of generosity?"

After a long pause and a look of hard concentration the man replied, "Well…besides that?"

"Fine!" Aragorn had had it with this man, his drink, his stupidity, and his reckless abuse of his guesthood in Rivendell. He walked over to the mantle above the hearth where a map of the land of Middle-Earth was displayed proudly. After plucking the map off of its time-honored post he walked back to slump of a man across the hall, taking care to avoid the pile of sick that a member of the kitchen staff was running to clean up with a bucket and cloth. In the simplest voice he could muster he explained, "Look, we will escort you to wherever you need to go. Point to where you came from, or anywhere you wish to go, and you will be escorted there. We can give you a horse. But you need to leave. Tonight."

The stranger tried to focus on the map but judging by the rapid movement of his eyes, Aragorn could tell that the map, no matter how stationary he held it, was still moving in front of him.

However after a moment, and with a note of finality, the man stated, "That's not my home."

Aragorn knew the man was inebriated. Even an elf would be lacking some skill after imbibing as much as this man had. Aragorn could think of no feasible reason why he had to completely obliterate every ounce of sense he had five times in the past fortnight. But no matter the source, the end result sat before him.

So, he tried to explain again, as if to a very young child who had more questions than the number of breaths they had ever taken: very slowly.

"Please." Aragorn held the stranger by the shoulders and said, "I need you to overcome your drink and tell me where you can go that is not here." Preferably a hundred leagues away, where his shadow cannot be cast upon the halls of Imladris anymore.

The stranger gave a huff and replied, "You can't send me back, for two reasons"

Aragorn watched unimpressed as the stranger raised three fingers.

"One: I don't want to go back. Two: You don't know how." The man stared confused at the third finger for a while as if it was going supply a third idiotic reason for not leaving.

Just as Aragorn was about to say those didn't matter, the stranger interrupted, "Three: I might be dead."

The wonders never cease to rise from the springs of drunk and fools.

"You have been informed already that you are in the land of the living. I high recommend that you stop drinking so you can remember that fact." Aragorn replied, shoving the map under the imbecile's nose.

For a moment a look of complete seriousness passed over the face of the young man before him, Aragorn almost thought he had become sober in a moment.

The man seemed to stare through the map, "I drink to forget the possibility, not the fact."

Aragorn knew that this man would not go back to where he came from, most likely he was banished from there on account of some form of debauchery. "It does not matter if you want to go back there or not. I only ask that you leave. We can take you to the Western shores or as far as Gondor. The horses of the elves are well-bred and fast, they-"

The stranger interrupted with a strangled groan, "The elves _this_. And the elves _that_! Do you even _hear_ yourself talk? Everyone makes it sound like these elves are perfect at _everything_. You make it sound as if there is no point being born _human_!"

Aragorn stared at the stranger, completely gobsmacked. A rustling of fabric behind him told Aragorn that someone else was in the hall.

The new arrival was in fact two. Gandalf the Grey and Glorfindel. Aragorn wondered if anyone else ever felt the sinister laugh of fate beating across them.

Gandalf step forward and cleared his throat, "I think we should let the young man get back to his bed. It has been a long night. I think we should bring the celebrations to a close- "

Glorfindel cut Gandalf short, "No, this man, this drunken-"

"-I think I am getting sober, actually", interjected the man from the chair as he stood up and was pushed back down by Aragorn.

"Gandalf, he can't stay. The council convenes tomorrow, and we don't even know if he can be trusted." Aragorn pleaded to the wizard.

The wizard looked down at the man who was trying to focus on the elusive form of the wizard in front of him. After a moment, the dim glazed look became sharp and aware and the stranger stared at the floor and addressed the wizard, "I wouldn't do that if I were you. The last person who tried to pry had the misfortune of dying in a distasteful manner."

Aragorn placed his hand on the knife he kept with him in lieu of a sword at such formal events. His experience with Gandalf made him aware that the elder had a penchant for rubbing people the wrong way, but this was the killing intent he had been expecting from the stranger. However, Gandalf seemed completely unfazed by the turn in demeanor and placed a staying hand on Aragorn's shoulder.

With as pleasant a manner as always, Gandalf removed the hand from Aragorn's shoulder and asked, "May I ask how you learned to do that?"

"You can ask, but you won't like the answer," the man said eyeing the elder as if he was about to strike him at any moment.

Gandalf seemed oddly pleased with this answer. "So you intend to give no answer."

Glorfindel who was silently fuming until now, reached down and grab the stranger's wrist, "Listen, it is time you learn to show some respect-!"

The sound of hammer on an anvil rang through the room at a volume much louder than anything Aragorn had heard in his life, as Glorfindel was picked up and thrown across the room as if by some unseen force. Aragorn rushed to the side of the dazed elf. Seeing that there were not dangerous injuries Aragorn looked for the mysterious source that knocked the elf so easily off his feet.

The stranger sat glaring at the elf with one arm extended at if he was forcibly holding the air in front of him. Gandalf was looking at the space between the stranger between the chair and Glorfindel's slumped form, as if something fascinating was occurring in the space.

The stranger slumped further in the chair raised his left hand, and Aragorn drew his knife as the nearly empty bottle of the stranger's foul, amber liquid flew past him and into the stranger's waiting hand.

Bewildered, Aragorn could only stare as the stranger said, "Bottom's up" swallowed the last mouthful from the bottle and passed out with the empty bottle still clutched in his hand.

_

* * *

_

As Gandalf turned the key to the stranger's door Aragorn looked at the wizard hoping for at least some explanation. Aragorn knew that the wizard would only explain things when he was completely ready to do so, never knew he needed to trust in Gandalf the Grey, because if he couldn't, who _could_ he trust? Gandalf had given word to Lord Elrond and his Council that Saruman the White had fallen to the seductions of the Ring.

The One Ring.

Aragorn still couldn't believe it was housed in Imladris, and was at a loss as to why Gandalf trusted him to travel with the halfling who carried it. If the great kings of old couldn't withstand its power, what right did he have the trust to sleep in the same city as the Ring?

Aragorn elbowed the stone wall behind him in frustration, why did he have to have this many questions now?

"I wonder if the sole doom of solid partitions is to forever be in our way of what is sought." The voice of the elder wizard said from behind him.

Ignoring the comment, Aragorn looked past the brim of the grey hat and saw the closed door behind the wizard, "Is he in bed?"

With a raised brow and slightly baleful gaze, Gandalf looked down at Aragorn, "A dragon would be in bed after what he consumed. Don't think that excuses your behavior, or Glorfindel's for that matter."

Aragorn knew the wizard was right, but couldn't help but try and justify his actions, "He was a guest of Lord Elrond's-"

"No." Gandalf interjected, "He is a guest of _mine_ in the home of Lord Elrond. There is a difference, and while Elrond is not pleased with the arrangement, he knows my reasons," He paused and then added, "no matter what you and Glorfindel say on the matter. Fortunately for you he will not remember due to exhaustion and the imbibment of a large quantity of the elves' wine."

Aragorn sincerely wanted to kick a wall. Or the stranger. Whichever his foot found first, actually. He was mature, he was being responsible, he didn't get drunk every night, and this _lokion_ of Angmar-

As if reading his thoughts, Gandalf continued, "He isn't from Angmar, or at least that isn't where he learned his magic from. He does not want the Ring, in fact I strongly believe he wouldn't even know what it was if he were to even see it."

There was an uncomfortable pause for Aragorn as Gandalf pulled the pipe out from its holding place on his staff. This was the most he had heard from Gandalf in sequence since his arrival in Rivendell. He had almost forgotten how calming it was to have the wizard around and aware of the situation. That didn't change the fact that Aragorn needed to know more about a man that still had not been labeled as officially trustworthy.

"He is dangerous, frighteningly so. Then again, so are you, so is Elrond, and so am I" Gandalf puffed the pipe, and after a moment's consideration, he concluded, "He is something I have never encountered before in the Ages I have walked Middle-Earth."

With that discomforting thought, Aragorn kept his pace with Gandalf as they reached the edge of the hall. As they turned the corner, Aragorn saw Lord Elrond make his way down the hall. Inwardly groaning at the inevitable rebuke, Aragorn couldn't help but feel he was a small child caught after running through the Halls of Imladris.

"Your guest certainly has a way of causing disruption everywhere he breathes, Gandalf the Grey. I don't even think I can foresee what future chaos he may bring to these halls," Elrond stated with no humor as he drew level to Aragorn and Gandalf.

Gandalf smiled and withdrew the pipe from his mouth, "My Lord Elrond, I think one day you may be thankful you offered him shelter in your Halls." Gandalf glanced at Elrond's unconvinced look, "But that day is a long way off"

Aragorn couldn't help but crack a small smile at that, "Indeed. But he can't be sheltered here forever and refuses whether he is sober or drunk to go back to his homeland. Which heralds the question: why?"

"He didn't arrive here by natural means; he could have been banished, hunted, or escaped. Albeit none of them explain in anyway the manner in which Aragorn found him." Elrond mused, his eyes falling on Gandalf.

Gandalf walked over to the banister separating the walkway from the view of the river gorge and leaned against it. After a pensive look into the river, he turned back to the two, "A man who does not want to stay here, return to where he was, or go anywhere else, would desire to be nowhere at all; a very unfortunate outlook on life indeed."

Aragorn remembered the haunted look upon the stranger's face when told he was alive, '_I drink not to forget the fact, but the possibility_'. Words that still made no sense but stuck out like blood on snow. Aragorn shook the phrase from his head and turned to Gandalf as he remembered the question he had wanted to ask while he waited outside the Stranger's room.

"What did he do to Glorfindel? I have never seen anything like that in all my years, not even from you, Gandalf, my friend." Aragorn questioned while leaning against the wall facing the view of the mountain.

Gandalf and Elrond shared a look, and then Elrond spoke, "Glorfindel had only been wounded by the fall. The force that removed him from his feet did not injure him. So he will be able to make it to the Council tomorrow, albeit, he'll probably be carrying some pain. I refused to heal him on the ground that his actions were unbecoming of a dwarf, let alone an elf of his stature. I too, must admit that I am curious as to how he managed to come to such a state."

Aragorn could help but lightly smirk--Glorfindel wouldn't have taken that well. It felt good to know that there was someone else feeling the same frustration he was.

After sharing look with Elrond, Gandalf answered, "He can use magic, but not like me or the other Istari when they are at their full purpose."

Aragorn noticed the look and the specification about the Istar, "And what of Saruman, then?"

Gandalf looked back at the waterfall, "Saruman is on his way to achieving the magic that this man has." He held up a hand to stay the inevitable onslaught of questions and vindications, "Saruman is perverting his powers from that of a guardian to that of a conqueror. This man does have a magic that would fall in this category, but it not the same power that any of the Istari possess."

Elrond broke his silence to ask, "What do you mean Gandalf? I must confess that I do not know as much of the magic of the Istari as I do the magicks of Angmar and my kin."

"It means that he doesn't use magic like anyone in Middle-Earth has ever used it before. It is not evil, but it is not good." Gandalf answered as he took off the wide brim hat and examined it.

A dark thought occurred to Aragorn, "What if he was to fall into the hands of the enemy? That is to say if he hasn't already?"

Without looking up from his hat, Gandalf replied, "If we are strangely fortunate, Sauron does not even know of his existence, let alone his powers. However I am sure his mere presence at the Trollshaws has alerted the enemy to the existence of a strangely-clad man in the presence of the Ring of Power. You and Glorfindel were right to assume he was an agent of the Enemy, however that assumption may mean that he will be hunted by the Enemy even if we were to release him to Rivendell."

Aragorn tried to ignore the bitter taste in his mouth as he realized that his actions he may have doomed the dotard to being hunted by Sauron.

"Fear not! I think I may have a solution to ensure his safety," Gandalf said with a smile. After a pause he chuckled with mirth.

For some reason, the comment seemed more foreboding than comforting.

* * *

Aragorn surveyed the porch which overlooked the pine forest climbing the mountains surrounding Rivendell. The dwarves, Gloin and his son Gimli, had shown the resilience of their race by making it to the meeting despite their state the night prior. The elves of Mirkwood sent their prince, Legolas, to bear urgent news to Lord Elrond. The shipwright Cirdan of the Havens had sent Galdor on an errand to Imladris and Elrond ask that he be present at the meeting. Gandalf had just entered the meeting with Frodo and Bilbo Baggins in tow. If the rustling in hedge behind them was anything to go by, another hobbit had made his way to the porch, most likely Samwise. Boromir of Gondor, son of the Steward, Denethor arrived late last night, urgently asking for Lord Elrond's council, he was guided to the feast and told his questions would be answered the next day. The anxiousness of the travel worn man was contrasted with the surliness of Glorfindel and the serene peace that always seemed to emanate from Erestor, Elrond's chief advisor.

As Lord Elrond seated himself between his advisors and looking at an empty chair set between Gandalf and Galdor. Aragorn followed his gaze and tried to think who could be missing, after all, no summons were sent, everyone who had arrived had their own business with Rivendell.

Except the stranger.

Gandalf had been reticent as usual in the disclosure of his plans. It was truly one of the wizard's less endearing traits.

* * *

Harry wandered out of his room and out of the walkway, poking at his wrist as if trying to annoy it into telling him some secret that it held. He seriously wondered what it would say about his sanity when it finally replied.

He found himself going down the south corridor, and realized he hadn't ventured this Hall in the two weeks of his stay. Harry let his feet carry him as he thought about England. He wanted to go back, no matter how much he denied it. The devil you knew was better than the devil you don't, if anything. He honestly had nothing to go back too. Everyone he wanted to talk to already had a life outside the Deadzone, the public's charming name for the area inside the ICW disapparation border around England. That or they were dead.

Yet, at the same time, he had nothing here. Well, he had safety, but that was a stranger. He knew he should be polite to 'hosts' but courtesy fell out of his use, and sometimes, he just couldn't help himself. Whiskey probably had a good deal to do with that.

The other wizard was watching and popped up like a daisy whenever he even thought about leaving. It wasn't like the old man could read his thoughts, his Occlumency barriers had become a veritable fortress. The wizard, Gandalf who liked grey apparently, wasn't a true Legilimens--at least from what he gathered in incidental chats. His topics of conversation only coincided with his thoughts, meaning he was able to determine congruent topics, never the actual subject of his thought. Which was a relief, yet still unnerving.

He couldn't even explain that he came from a different world, which indeed he had judging from the various maps and runes he had never seen. The 'How?' he got here would be followed with the 'Why?' he was in that situation, and then he would need to explain 'Who?' he was.

And 'Who?' was a loaded question.

Orphan. Wizard. Student. Savior. Vigilante. Murderer. His resume had certainly taken a turn for the worse over the years. He briefly mused over if they found Carrow's body yet. With Carrow dead, there would be a mass search for him. The ICW would probably flood the country and find him before the public outcry to end the Deadzone. Harry had wondered what would happen when they didn't find him. Kingsley would pitch the hissy-fit of the century no doubt.

It was unfortunate that he was probably going to miss it.

Quiet mutterings disrupted his thoughts. Harry winced in at the brightness of the sun; he had sincerely hoped he would be over his hangover by then.

Well…what have we here?

Harry pulled the invisibility cloak out from the large pocket in his robes. After levitating himself a few inches off the ground he approached the collection of voices.

* * *

Aragorn listened to Gloin recount his tale of the messenger that came to seek out the whereabouts of the ring. He was particularly troubled by the news that the nearby city of men would suffer a siege as a result of Sauron's obsession with his search. If Aragorn remembered the story the old hobbit had enthusiastically told him during their coinciding stay at Rivendell, Bilbo's ring only came into play when one of the lake men came looking for Bilbo. Aragorn let the stranger be seen in the company of the bearer of the Ring by the Nazgul themselves. He felt like a fool. The stranger was going to be hunted regardless of his strange magic and drinking habits.

Gloin concluded with the final words of the messenger that sought the exchange of Bilbo for the three Dwarven Rings.

"'The time of my thought is mine to spend', Dain said." Gloin recounted to the Council. "He replied, 'For now.' And then rode off into the darkness."

Aragorn knew Sauron would be watching all roads. The disposal or destruction of Ring would be difficult. He paused as he watched Elrond sit up to recount his view on the tale of the Ring of Power.

* * *

Harry snuck past a pair of legs hanging out a shrubbery lining the porch. Judging by the length, they belonged to one of the Halflings he saw running around over the past few days.

A regal looking man was standing now and recounting a tale about a ring. Elrond, the man that begrudgingly gave him a room, proceeded to tell a beautiful story about a man who befriended the 'perfect' elves and learned their secrets and betrayed them. The tale continued to a battle, where everything was pitted against them and then they removed the ring and the evil guy, Sauron, was defeated. Harry couldn't help but feel he had heard the story before.

Then apparently the ring disappeared for a while and peace came to the lands as the ring was lost forever.

Elrond then continued to relay his story over the years…which would mean that he was over 800 years old. Harry knew that anything was possible, but this Elrond was surprisingly well-preserved for his age.

The ring had seemingly been hidden in a river for a good bit, after being lost by a king from long ago, which apparently no one knew, if the man with the travel worn cloak and the horn was anything to go by. There was a city that even then stood against the guy, Minas Tirith, a much better name than Minas Anor. And some of the old cities had fallen into darkness. And the ring was the furthest thing from everyone's mind.

And It had just been found. And now bad stuff is happening. Harry watched the Council and saw the growing fear behind the eyes of those seated.

Harry finally realized why the story seemed familiar. It was Tom Riddle's story. The name may be Sauron and he may have a super ring, but the man had only taken the same idea Tom had and made it much larger.

* * *

Aragorn settled back into his seat. He probably shouldn't have yelled at Boromir about the Dunadain. The man had probably been weaned on the stories of the glories of Gondor from his father and was probably never told the stories of the men in the North. Still, the Men of Gondor were hailed as heroes and his people were outcast and all but chased out of towns.

* * *

Harry listened to the man named Boromir go on about the illustrious deeds of the men in his city and how it was a literal pillar of goodness for the surrounding lands. Harry could have puked as he remembered some of the propaganda issued by the Ministry after the fall of Voldemort. Aragorn, the man who apparently disapproved of Harry's existence, stood up and told him that the same men that are outcast are the ones that risk their lives to protect the people.

Harry concluded that this Aragorn was too nice to strangers and could benefit from whiskey.

* * *

Aragorn watched as Boromir continued and recounted his dream that brought him to Imladris. It was an accurate dream that summed the entire purpose of their meeting into a few lines of verse. Aragorn knew he was the described bearer of the 'broken sword' of Elendil. He rose up and presented the broken sword Elrond had requested him to bring to the meeting.

The doubt came off of Boromir in waves. If the Captain of Gondor would not believe in the heir to the throne of Gondor, who would?

* * *

Harry watched as Aragorn presented a blade to the Council that would have been a beautiful sword if it was not snapped a handlength above the hilt. Unless he was wrong, Harry knew that sword meant Aragorn had something to do with the old kings…

Which meant that the scruffy and disapproving man was really a-

Harry's train of thought was cut as the hobbit, Frodo, was asked to hold something aloft. An innocent little gold ring, like Aunt Petunia's wedding band. Harry wondered if maybe someone was getting married later, and then, he saw it:

Red letters in a language he couldn't understand.

Harry watched as the runes glowed as if hanging in the air surrounding the ring. Then He heard the whisper:

_Harry Potter…_

He almost fell out of the bush he was in. No one here knew his name. No one. He looked around violently, almost cracking his neck as he looked for the small Hobbit. But there he lay, feet still hanging out of the bush.

…_Harry Potter…_

Harry snapped back to the ring. Rings should not be able to talk, let alone know names. Harry felt something familiar with the pleading tone of the ring. Then again, if he put it on, he would…

The words of the late Arthur Weasley creeped into his brain: Don't talk to something unless you can see where it keeps its brain.

The ring was pleading to the voices on the porch. Harry stared at the little trinket, wondering why it felt familiar.

A Horcrux. The blasted ring was a Horcrux.

Harry would have kicked a tree nif not for fear that there was another halfling hiding amongst the foliage.

Harry tried to remind himself that it was only a ring, though the fact that the last ring Horcrux he encountered brought the dead to life did not allay his fears.

* * *

Aragorn listened to the Hobbits tell their tales of their encounters of the Ring of Power. Aragorn smiled as the elder Hobbit took the floor. The little hobbit had a genuine gift for telling a story. The younger of the two, Frodo did not have the same showmanship his uncle had when telling a story. The young halfling looked genuinely scared of everything at the Council, especially the Ring.

As the two sat, Gandalf stood and explained his part in the story.

Leave it to Gandalf to find the scroll of Isildur underneath the nose of the Steward. Then Gandalf explained the engravings and the characteristic of the one ring to provide Galdor the proof he desired to prove that it was the One ring of Power.

Then Gandalf continued to say that he read an inscription off the ring…but Gandalf the Grey would surely not be so foolish as to-

* * *

"_Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg thrakatulûk agh burzum-ishi krimpatul!"_

Harry clapped his hands over his ears at the grating sound of the words the old man muttered. The air around him seem to drop in temperature and rattle everything from the trees to the loose pebbles that lay on the flagstones of the porch in front of him.

This was seriously doing nothing to help his headache.

For a moment the grey wizard no longer kind and friendly, but terrible and commanding. Harry didn't know the meaning of the words, but knew it wasn't tidings of good cheer.

* * *

Only Gandalf the Grey would ever think to utter the tongue of Mordor in Rivendell. Then again, only Gandalf could get away with it. Aragorn knew Elrond would most likely have words with Gandalf later about that stunt.

As he watched the timid flight of a few birds returning to a tree near the porch, Aragorn listened to Gandalf recount the capture of the creature, Gollum. He remembered the task that had strengthened the friendship he had with the wizard. Aragorn had taken the creature to Mirkwood after he and Gandalf extracted information from him. As Gandalf drew to the end of the story that had been a few years of Aragorn's life, Legolas, son of Thranduil, stood up and announce that Gollum had escaped the watch of the elves.

"Escaped?"

* * *

Harry almost busted out laughing. The elves lost a prisoner because they were 'too kind' of all things. Really? If there were elves as old as Elrond, heck even half that age, then it should've been obvious that you did not let prisoners gambol about and climb trees freely. Harry made a mental note that he needed to teach the elves how to keep someone prisoner. His life had taught him all prisoners need constant watch, soupy food of no consistency, and if they are playing with anything, it had better bite them.

* * *

Aragorn knew that the elves of Mirkwood had meant well, but he felt that Gollum being a captive of the elves was one of the few things they had over the enemy. With a physical source that could sneak around better than the Nazgul and with an equal obsession of the Ring, the Enemy had a much greater chance of finding the One Ring.

His thoughts broke as his listened to Gandalf relay his time as a captive of Saruman the White.

Gandalf the Grey held prisoner. It was almost unbelievable. Though Gandalf had repeatedly said that he had not been tested against many things in this world, it still was daunting to several people who knew the wizard to know that there were forces that could contain him. Saruman was particularly worrisome. His proximity to Rohan could leech the will of the people North of Gondor before any battles were fought.

The grey wizard sat down at the end of his story, Elrond stood up and addressed the Council, "Well the tale is now told, from first to last. Here we all are, and here is the Ring. But we have not yet come any nearer to our purpose. What shall come of it?"

Silence.

* * *

A/N: Thank you so much to Intelligo and Durend who beta-ed this chapter. Many apologies for the late update of this chapter. I have no more excuses to offer, save that life slapped me with a dead fish repeatedly. Hope the chapter was worth the wait. Thank you to all who reviewed my story. I will try to post another chapter before I leave for study abroad.


	5. Chapter 4

A/N: I make no money off of this fanfic, nor do I in way claim ownership over any aspect of Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter.

As has probably been realized I am following the book more so than the movie concerning the events in the 'Fellowship of the Ring'. I do plan on meshing in the occasional movie quote and moment if only because it helps mesh the two stories together. I apologize if this causes confusion. It is not necessary to experience both the movie and the books to read this fanfic.

* * *

**Chapter 4**

The only noise in the air was sound of rushing water below. Even the birds had stop twerping as if realizing the gravity of the decision being made.

Harry didn't think debate should be held about the fate of the Ring. He eyed one of the nice axes on the back of the younger dwarf, Gimli, the one that couldn't hold his liquor. He bet one of those could at least damage the ring with the right spells or poison. The wizard probably knew of some magical weapon that could destroy it, if he didn't have one already.

He briefly wondered what would happen if he walked into the council then and there with wands blazing and aiming to destroy the ring. He would probably be shot by an elf, the surly looking one may even take a swing at him, thinking that he was trying to steal it. The ring would probably panic and use its powers to cause someone to die for it. Harry didn't know if he could take three elves and whoever else was susceptible to the Horcrux's power, so hiding in the bushes seemed to be the best course of action, for now.

* * *

Aragorn mentally groaned as Glorfindel bit out that they should throw it into the Sea and be done with it. After a warning glance from Elrond, Gandalf explained in a more jovial manner that the Ring would appear again, and in the meantime Sauron and Saruman could destroy the free lands of Middle-Earth. Glorfindel just gritted his teeth and muttered something about 'exploring all options'.

Aragorn thought the elf was probably thinking about throwing some_one_ rather than some_thing_ into the Great Sea. Glorfindel was apparently still sore in multiple senses because of the fight with the stranger last night.

Elrond stood before the Council and stated that the Ring should be unmade, despite that none here possess the power to unmake it. Only in the East is the power to unmake the Ring of Power.

* * *

Finally.

Harry looked at the slowly paling faces of the Council. Harry wanted to knock some heads together, they should be thrilled that they at least have a means of destroying it. Harry knew all too well the despair that came from having a taunting piece of soul and no means of destroying it. Harry remembered the months it took to even find the book that hinted at the magic needed to destroy the locket. Finding and learning the magic took two months with the locket antagonizing Hermione and him every step of the way. Ron had left after a few months after they had the locket, until one day in early September when he left them.

He never saw Ron again after the argument that tore the trio apart. Harry often wondered when Ron would have come back if he lived, for it was never a question of 'if'. He knew the journey would have been easier on their hearts if Ron had been with them. Hermione cried every night for the following weeks after he left them in the woods. The months that followed were filled with mourning, bickering, and then spiteful provocation to make the other leave. They knew that the locket was trying to separate them to make it easier to claim one of them for its own, but that knowledge was only a small condolence. The suffering they heaped on each other was only prolonged by Voldemort burning down bookshops and his Deatheaters hording the largest collection of dark grimoires around. With no knowledge of how to destroy the Horcrux and the books holding that knowledge rapidly disappearing, Harry and Hermione had almost-

Harry was shaken out of his thoughts with the proclamation of the man from Minas Tirith, "The Great Ring has come to us in our very hour of need. We should wield it against him, use his strength against him".

Glorfindel groaned as Aragorn put his head in his hands. Harry thought that was unfair of them, few know the power of a Horcrux. Many think that because they have a whole soul they can overcome a fractured one. In a way, yes, however, whole souls do not know the unending torment of a divided soul. Harry remembered the battered piece of the soul that Voldemort killed in battle, huddled in a corner of Kings Cross Station. Beaten and rejected by its very self in an act of violence, the shred of soul becomes ravenous in its search for a living vessel, a way for it to express itself outside of its inanimate prison. That hunger, which whole souls know not, is what drives the Horcrux to antagonize all around it.

Harry knew the hunger well; it was something he came to appreciate after being a living Horcrux for two years. He did not hold ignorance of it against the over-confident soldier. A Horcrux will promise anything to be free. Even if the man boasted about the deeds of his city, the truth lay in what he didn't say. His city probably needed help and was undermanned. By bragging about the numerous things they protected it left the question of how one city, which had fallen a little in the past few centuries according to Elrond, could protect so many.

It couldn't, at least, not without leaving itself open to attack. The poor man is probably everything the poor Horcrux wanted: strong, deeply involved with its enemy, and desperate.

* * *

Aragorn groaned as Boromir refused to listen to reason concerning the Ring. Aragorn listened to Elrond explain the dangers of the ring and after a while, Boromir relented, thankfully.

Gandalf rose and spoke with a gentle tone, "Boromir, it is not that we wish to deny aid to Gondor. Our fear is that even the Wise would not be able to command the Ring without crowning themselves as Dark Lords that would claim dominion of Middle Earth."

Boromir flinched slightly at the words but did not retort. Aragorn narrowed his eyes at the young Gondorian, he would need to be watched in his interactions with Frodo. The peril the Ring presented should be obvious, it was even referred to as Isildur's Bane. If the descendants of Numenor could not restrain themselves from the Ring, what hope would Boromir have?

What hope did he, Aragorn, have?

* * *

Harry knew that look, it was the same as the one he had given to Snape after an unfair detention was assigned. No, Boromir had not given up his futile hope in the Ring, but he was smart enough to back down.

Elrond spoke after a while from his seat, "The doom of the Ring has been decided. Now, who will accompany it into the shadows of Mordor?"

Silence fell upon the Council a second time. Harry had to wonder what was so terrible in this Mordor that none would tread upon it in conversation, let alone on foot. It was similar to the trepidation he had seen amongst Deatheaters who were deciding who should be the bearer of bad news to the Dark Lord. Mordor, the land the Enemy had once ruled in Elrond's story was apparently the dwelling of the same terror now. Harry tried to envision Lord Voldemort as ruler of a country.

For some reason the words _desolate_ and _curse-marked_ sprung to mind.

If Dark Lords who split their souls on a whim had similar tastes in interior decoration, Harry could almost understand why no one would want to go within a hundred leagues of Mordor.

The old hobbit, Bilbo, who had been oddly silent in comparison to last night's revelry, stood up slowly. The poor halfling must have had a headache larger than him after that, unless, of course, his 'Host of Honor' gave him a healing hand. Harry thought that to be the truth considering the story that Bilbo had told before concerning the Ring about how he had liberated it from a pitiful little creep was told with greater flair than Harry had heard when the hobbit was drinking.

"I see who you are all pointing to! Well, well, well, I suppose I have started a good mess, and it would be silly of me not to think of cleaning it up. I had just finished my book too. 'And he lived happily ever after to the end of his days', I thought it was a proper ending, but how foolish of me. I suppose that I will have to go back and change it. Do not worry! It will not be too bothersome!" Bilbo said as he slowly made his speech and then sat down and waited for the response of the Council.

Harry couldn't help but think the old hobbit had a bit of something before the meeting if he deluded himself into thinking he was fit for travel. Even Boromir looked ready to burst out laughing, however, every other face on the porch looked completely serious.

Elrond told the old hobbit to stand down from the quest and explained how multiple people were required to take upon the task and that no one expected Bilbo to be one of them. The old hobbit actually looked slightly put out at the prospect of missing the venture. Bilbo then thought for a moment turned back to Elrond, and asked, "And just who are these emissaries that will take the Ring into the East?"

* * *

Aragorn groaned as Boromir opened his mouth. The man was strong and a good warrior, but he needed to learn when to stay his opinion.

"The Great Eye is ever watchful. It is a barren wasteland, riddled with fire, ash, and dust" He leaned further into the circle and continued in a low voice, "The very air you breathe is a poisonous fume. Not with ten thousand men could you complete this task. It is folly"

Aragorn saw the pale faces of the hobbits and the fear build behind the eyes of the elves. With that simple statement, hope had been snuffed from the terrace.

Legolas showed his merit by standing up to the remark, "You heard what has been said." Drawing himself to full height he continued, "The Ring must be destroyed!"

The life that had escaped the porch seemed to rush back with that statement. Aragorn looked at Gandalf who was smiling, if the small twitches of his beard were anything to go by. The smile, however, was replaced by a frown as an agitated dwarf, Gimli son of Gloin, stood up and looked furiously at the elf.

"And I suppose you think that _you're _the one to do it!" The dwarf shouted across the porch to the elvish delegation across from him.

Aragorn placed his head in his hand as the porch dissolved into chaos.

* * *

Well, at least the porch didn't dissolve into silence again.

Harry glanced down at the squirming legs of the halfling beside him. It was almost mid day and the hobbit was probably anxious about the gravity of the situation. Or hungry, Harry thought as he remembered that he normally saw the short statured guests around a table holding food, speaking about food, or in fact eating.

Most likely hungry then.

"I will take it! I will take the Ring to Mordor." Harry looked up see which warrior had finally offered their services, only to find that the porch had fallen into that thrice-damned silence again. In the middle of the porch stood Frodo, hands slightly shaking with all of the Council staring at him, and Harry couldn't help but be slightly impressed and more than a little scared.

"Although, I do not know the way…" The young Hobbit continued with dwindling confidence.

Harry put his head in his hand and wondered why the foolishly brave had the fated misfortune to speak the loudest.

* * *

Aragorn looked over in shock as the young halfling stood up and proclaimed his intention to take the road East with the ring. True, Frodo had withstood the powers of the Ring, quite remarkably in fact. The wise would not touch the Ring, Gandalf would never bear the Ring two feet, let alone the entire journey. The elves would not touch it for they loathed its existence as much as they feared it. The dwarves' ability to ward off the powers of the Ring had never been tested, however, they do not trust easily and are very protective of their belongings, and would probably kill to protect the Ring and take it back to the mountains if history was any judge. Boromir and history had proven that the Ring could not be borne to the Fiery Mountain by men without tempting and eventually corrupting the bearer. Which left Frodo Baggins of the Shire, the most unlikely and unexpected of all the races in Middle-Earth.

Elrond stood and addressed the Council, "This task has been appointed to you, Frodo Baggins, and that if you do not find a way, no one will. This is the hour of the Shire-folk, when they arise from their quiet fields to shake the towers and counsels of the Great."

Appropriate words, Aragorn could help but think as Frodo flushed at the praise and enormity of the task he had just taken.

"But do not fret, young master, for though it is a heavy burden, I cannot lay it upon you. Only you may take it freely, and if that should be your will, you go with the goodwill of elves."

Aragorn looked sharply over his shoulder as a bush to his right began to rustle violently.

* * *

Harry found there was very little he liked about the people on the porch at this moment. First they fight about the existence of the Ring. Next, they fight about what to do with it. Then, they go and argue about whether or not it should be destroyed.

Harry could live with that. Debate is good, in moderation. Harry himself had to let go of his 'Leap, then look' attitude after the consequences it brought.

However, this was unacceptable. No one should ever need to feel they have to do the right thing, they should do it because they damn well feel like it.

That hobbit, Frodo, he was scared, completely out of his depth and instead of waiting for the debate to come to a conclusion, he just jumped in and said he'd do it. Harry knew the little guy had seen some action, he had been knifed over a week ago, but the carefree attitude he had witnessed from him and his fellows belayed the fact they were woefully naïve about the horrors of battle. Frodo had no idea what he was walking into and therefore had no right to take up the task. He should have been stopped before his bravery got him killed.

Harry looked down at the struggling halfling caught in the bush he had previously used as camouflage. One these halflings was going to walk into the main fortress of the enemy, stroll up to his backyard volcano bearing the one thing that the enemy is hell bent on searching, and then they will destroy it? It was genuinely laughable.

They couldn't fight off a bit of shrubbery, let alone one of those horse-riding wraiths.

* * *

Aragorn smiled fondly as Samwise broke through the bush on the edge of the porch.

He ran to stand to Frodo and looked at Lord Elrond, "Well you surely can't be sending him alone!"

Elrond raised a dignified eyebrow, "No indeed, you at least shall go with him," he then added with a tone of admonishment, "For it is hardly possible to separate you from him, even when he summoned to a secret council and you are not."

Sam had the good grace to blush at the subtle rebuke, "Isn't this a nice pickle that we've landed in, Mr. Frodo?"

* * *

Secret council? Oh that was a laugh.

Harry wondered if there was something in the water that made these people so trusting, and that wasn't Mad Eye's training talking. The inhabitants of this land let prisoners run free, trust those that can't fight to take on dangerous enemies, and hold secret meetings that anyone could walk in.

Harry needed to leave this place, soon. It was bad for his paranoia.

* * *

Aragorn watched as the three halflings left the porch with the eldest talking of adventures and dragons. The council's discussion was surprisingly smooth, despite the surprises that threatened the composure of the attendees.

Glancing at the chair beside him that had been unoccupied the whole time, Aragorn wondered what devilry the stranger got into with all of his minders at the Council. He knew Gandalf told him to trust the stranger, he just didn't know how. Everything that man did upset the perfect balance of Rivendell, his home. The balance that had given him peace after the death of his mother was now being toyed with at the whim of oft too inebriated man. Even the elves…

"_You make it sound like there is no point being born _human_!"_

The words now echoed back and Aragorn wondered what the man meant by his accusation. It wasn't as if the elves were bad at raising horses or making weapons. Everyone in Middle Earth looked to the elves, they were the Firstborn and had lived the longest, so their experience made them superior in many ways. Aragorn watched the agitated form of Boromir as he paced amongst the hedges and sighed.

Making his way past the hedges, Aragorn could have sworn he heard something whispering of 'fiends' and 'flames' over his right shoulder. Whirling around, Aragorn stared at the empty space behind him. No one.

"Expecting your own shadow to come towards you wielding its own sword?"

Aragorn spun around and looked at the Gondorian captain who stared back at him as if trying to put together a puzzle without touching the pieces. Aragorn sighed, "If the path of shadow reaches here, one day it just might. You seem troubled as well, did your shadow find you before me?"

Boromir quirked a small smile, "Aye, it may have. My heart is troubled with the new discoveries made on this day. Fell whispers drew me to this corner of the garden, but it may have been a lingering phantom of my imagination."

Aragorn glanced surreptitiously around the garden, after seeing nothing out of place, minus the spot next to him where a mussed shrubbery dangled a few broken branches that tried to hold Samwise to the ground, Aragorn prodded the conversation onwards, "Perhaps we are all feeling the effects of the Ring. Its presence may have addled us all in some way."Aragorn stated gently, knowing the younger Gondorian was troubled.

Looking off into the pine forest, Boromir looked ashamed, as if guessing that Aragorn was hinting to Council instead of the current conversation. "I suppose we are affected in some ways by the danger and guised hope that it offers."

Aragorn smiled, the effect of the One Ring was ebbing while it was absent. The danger had passed. Looking at Boromir, Aragorn decided to take a risk, "I plan to travel alongside Frodo for at least part of his journey into the East. I do not how long I will stay by his side, however once I have finished my duty to the Ring bearer, I will go with you to the White City if you believe I can aid you."

"Yay," Boromir said softly and the turned to Aragorn, "It would aid the White City to see her King again" And with a broad grin, Boromir clapped the shoulder of Aragorn and walked off into the eastern side of Rivendell.

Aragorn couldn't help but wonder if he made a huge mistake.

* * *

Harry couldn't help but wonder if he made a huge mistake.

Night had fallen over Rivendell and the house, for the most part, was asleep. Harry tried to compare this scheme with past cracked-pot schemes he had in the past, and while this one didn't take the cake, it definitely stood out in the lack of knowledge concerning the consequences. Still, the worst they could do is kill him, or hold him prisoner in a tree…

As he crept past the first hobbit that lay peacefully on a fluffy pillow, Harry glanced at the second across the room that lay basking in the moonbeams. Both were completely asleep and unawares that there was someone else in the room. Harry crept further in and carefully pried the door open after casting a quick silencing spell at the door frame in case it creaked.

After sneaking through the door, Harry found the other two halflings, sleeping in mirroring beds and both sound asleep. Harry crept towards the halfling with darker hair and saw the velvet waistcoat that was neatly folded over the back of the chair next to the bed. Harry recalled this is where the halfling had stored the ring after the meeting. He confirmed this fact by feeling the ring through the pocket of the waist coat. After pausing to find a twig in the hearth pile, he approached the left breast pocket of the waistcoat.

Sticking the twig hesitantly into the pocket, Harry then fished around for his prize. The end of the twig snapped, bringing an anticlimactic pause to the fishing excursion. Removing the twig and resuming without the broken bit, Harry eventually looped his prey around the small branch. Gingerly pulling it out, Harry paused for a moment to marvel at how the little golden ring shone in the moonlight.

The twig seemed a bit of a paranoid measure, after all, it was only a ring. Harry considered the statement and held his hand out to drop the ring from the twig into his waiting palm.

Suddenly, for an instant Harry's right hand became black and malformed, he recognized it immediately as Dumbledore's shriveled arm after handling the ring that Harry now wore on his left forefinger.

Harry shook his head and sharply withdrew his hand from the ring. No matter how harmless the ring appeared, it was still a horcrux. Mentally berating himself for almost falling into the trap, Harry softly strode out of the room and retraced his steps to the porch. Setting the ring down on a stone plinth that sat near the edge of the garden, Harry took four deliberate steps back and raised his wand.

Harry mentally gathered himself for the spell, as he felt the acidic heat course through his body. With a resolute exhale, Harry held his wand aloft and whispered, "Phyrago!"

Deep red sparks burst forth from the end of the wand, and a ball of fire formed at the tip. Harry watched the beads of sweat on his arm glow in the orange light. Resisting the urge to brush the sweat from his brow, Harry focused on the ball as it began to take shape. The ball spasmed and wriggled under the force of Harry's concentration, the shape became serpentine but didn't take a defined form even as the size of the flame grew to the length of his forearm.

Harry growled in frustration, he was out of practice, this was taking too long and he didn't have much time to complete this task. With a deep breath, he focused on the shape of the flame, and Hermione's words came back to him…

* * *

A shrill voice broke his concentration, "Not that way!"

Harry barely had time to shield himself as the flames exploded in front of him and began to form a menagerie of animals that began to fly towards him. The animals soon consumed the shield in seconds and Harry apparated across the scorched room in an effort to escape the flames.

"PHYRAGO!" Hermione's voice was barely heard above the roar of the flames.

A lengthy serpent filled the chamber and surrounded Harry. Yelping as his exit was cut off, Harry winced and covered his eyes as the flames roared around him and the heat buffeted his face. He smelled the hair on his forearm burning and knew that if he made it out of this alive he would need Hermione's mercy and Burn Salve.

Feeling the temperature suddenly decrease, Harry risked peeking out from behind the crossed arms that shielded his face. The serpent was coiled around the animals of flame that Harry had set loose. The coiled flame opened its great maw and began consuming the flames inside its bright orange coils. Once the snake finished feasting it turned to Harry and stared at him with unseeing eyes that burned a bright yellow.

Harry thought for a moment that he would need to finish off the great snake in front of him, but his fears were allayed as the serpent disintegrated in wisps of flame that were drawn into Hermione's wand. With the danger gone Harry realized how tired he was and sat down on the still scorched tiled floor.

With a _tsk_ sound Hermione walked towards him wiping the sweat from her brow, "That was stupid of you. You could have gotten us both killed, or worse, damaged the book doing that"

Harry smiled, "Fortunately for us and the book, you are too clever for that to happen." He lay down on the cooling tiles, "How did you do that anyway, I thought I needed to will the flames away to stop the fire."

Hermione rolled her eyes, "Fiendfyre is not a Bluebell Flame, Harry, and you never had any control over the flames. You couldn't have _willed_ the flames to burn faster if you wanted them to."She sat down next to Harry's singed form, "You do realize that this means you have ruined another outfit beyond the reach of repairing charms, don't you? I am not helping you steal clothes again, you can go starkers for all I care."

Harry chuckled as Hermione pulled out the tub of Burn Salve that was used so often that the clear green goop had flecks of charcoal mixed inside of it. Harry obediently held his arms up perpendicular from his body, "I know Fiendfyre isn't a Bluebell Flame, but I did what you told me to, I focused my magic to become a flame-"

"Wrong." Hermione interrupted by slapping the burn salve none too gently on his pink left arm and showing no mercy to the bubbled skin near his wrists. Ignoring Harry's hiss of protest as the Burn Salve began creep into the open wounds, Hermione began to explain, "You made a flame, congratulations, but I bet even Crabbe could do that if he said the incantation and did the right wand movements. The reason Fiendfyre is banned is because of the disastrous effects of just doing that and nothing else, which is what you just did by the way. The only way to learn the spell with some modicum of safety is to have someone who knows how to create and control Fiendfyre-"

Harry found the inconsistency in this statement, "Then how did you learn it? If you- OW!" Hermione interrupted his statement by reaching across his body and slapping Burn Salve on his outstretched right arm.

"Honestly Harry, for seven years you said I was a brilliant witch, now I actually do something brilliant and you don't believe I could do it. I did the research and prepared myself and I did it because I had to do it." Hermione said while rubbing the cool salve up and down Harry's arm. "Fiendfyre is a magical flame that consumes the magic that surrounds it to continue burning. Now if the flame gets out of control, what is the first thing it will consume?"

Harry dutifully responded, "Me."

"The caster," Hermione corrected, "And that is only if you are the most potent source of magic in the room. That is why it is important to control the flame. Otherwise you'll get smoked before the flames get to the object you are trying to destroy." Hermione absently slapped Harry's arm upright as he let it fall slightly, "You need to keep your arms unbent for ten minutes, otherwise your arms will get stuck that way."

Harry groaned realizing Hermione was using his injuries to make him a captive student, "You know I wouldn't have lost control of the flames if you didn't scream at me."

Hermione raised an eyebrow, "You were doing it wrong and I was stopping you before you could pump any more magic into the flame. You tried to control the flame by pouring more of your power into it, when I had explicitly told you that you control the flame through the shape and the details that give rise to the flame." She paused for a moment to slap Harry's right arm into an unbent position.

Harry winced and retorted, "There wasn't enough flame to make anything like what you made. I was just trying to make it larger so that I could I could put more details into it." Harry tried to defend himself, "I know that the shape is important, I just thought by putting more of myself into the flame it would be more willing to obey me."

Hermione cast him a baleful look, "Harry, where in your right mind did you ever figure that by making something more like you, it would be more obedient? For Merlin's sake, you were able to throw off the Imperius curse completely in Fourth Year. Subservience is not a characteristic you could imbue into anything with your magic. By making the flame your _creation_ I meant you should control the shape, the dimensions, the animal, everything that makes that flame into Fiendfyre. If you know every aspect of that flame before you cast it, it belongs to you, and you can control it. As far as making it larger to see it better, your Elixir of Sight is almost done, and that is only if you are brave enough to try the modified version."

Harry sighed, "I thought my bravery was usually a problem?"

"It still usually is," Hermione answered briskly, "This is what happens when you say 'sod all' to reading and preparation. You end up on your back, in pain, and covered in Burn Salve." Hermione slapped Harry's elbows again, "Harry, this isn't like any of the magic they taught us in Hogwarts. We could get ourselves killed before we even find the rest of the Horcruxes. I don't want to waste everything we've done to get where we are. I need you to promise me that you will have a clear idea of what you are casting before you try again."

Sensing the gravity of the promise, Harry looked Hermione in the eye, "I promise." A thought occurred to him, he could have smacked himself for not realizing it sooner, "I have an idea." He tried to stand up but Hermione pinned him and looked pointedly at his arms. Sighing Harry, voiced his plan as Hermione straightened his arms, "If I use the Elder Wand I can get a feel for the flames-"

"Absolutely not." Hermione said with a severity Harry hadn't heard it a while. "The Elder Wand only amplifies your magic, it can't teach you anything. It is a _wand_ Harry, not a _book_. If you lose control of the flames, I don't think I could create a flame large enough to overpower. The only way to stop the flame is to create another that will consume the magic of the first flame and then willing it away. A whole new meaning to 'Fighting fire with fire'"

Harry realized the effort Hermione was putting into teaching him, "Hermione, you know how to use Fiendfyre"

With a huff, she replied to the statement, "Yes, Harry that is what I have been telling you." Pulling his arms straight, "Four more minutes." She said as she examined the gel that was becoming opaque.

"No, I mean If you know how to use it, why do we need to risk me learning it?" Harry explained.

Hermione paused for a minute and was perfectly still as she held Harry's arm's aloft. Harry thought she didn't hear him and was about to repeat his question when Hermione interrupted his thoughts.

"I thought the answer to that question would be obvious." Hermione said as she let go of his wrists to tentatively poke at the gel that was rapidly hardening into a white crust, "Harry this may leave a scar around the edges, so you know, I think this batch of salve is starting to go on us."

"Hermione," Harry said sensing Hermione ignoring his question, "spell it out for me, why do I need to learn this?"

Experimentally tapping at the salve, Hermione paused and considered the question, "I think this almost done, be careful not to bend your arms for the five minutes after this comes of, the skin is still regenerating." Griping the hard white crust at the top of Harry's left wrist she pryed it off his arms. The slab peeled away taking a translucent slab of bubbled and burnt skin with it. Brushing away the remaining white flecks off his arm, Hermione analyzed the new skin that formed under the salve. "Your hair hasn't grown back yet, so let's try to avoid burns next time, hmm?" After repeating the process with his right arm, Hermione vanished the white crusted, dead skin from the floor next to her.

"Hermione! Answer the question." Harry pleaded, "Please."

With a sigh, Hermione looked sadly at Harry as she lay his arms down next to him, "Because I might not live to see the next Horcrux. We can try again tomorrow morning. Try not to move, your arms are still healing"

* * *

Harry focused on the ball of flame as it grew wings and limbs. Fiery ridges formed along the spine of the little dragon. A smaller flame was better for this task. Large flames were good in battle because of the large areas they lay waste to, but Harry had grown morbidly fond of the small Ridgeback that was waiting at the tip of his Phoenix wand.

"Okay Norbert, its lunchtime." Harry whispered as he willed the flame to bounce onto the plinth next to the ring. The dragon stood only a half a meter high as it reared back and exhaled flames that slowly consumed the top of the stone. The flames broke loose as they coiled around the ring. Harry tried to keep the flames concentrated to the top of the short column but the flames began to take a new shape. A giant fiery eye rose from the flames and starred unblinking at Harry. With a grunt, Harry tried to bend the flames back into the shape of a Norwegian Ridgeback, hwever the flames refused to conform.

"Oh Hell." Harry muttered as the eye focused on him. Suddenly the makeshift Occlumency barrier he had constructed was bowed in by the force of the mental assault the eye unleashed. Harry felt his memories being grasped at and knew he needed to stop it before the attack was complete. Focusing himself he felt the tendril of the eye and envisioned a blade that cut the tendrils. The blade swung forward without a wielder and cut the tendrils that came from the eye. Harry focused on another wall and slammed the eye out of his mind with effort.

Opening his eyes Harry saw that the flames before him and grown twice their size and had completely consumed the stone the ring sat upon. The original dragon shaped flame had grown wilder and stared at him as if he were a tantalizing sheep.

Muttering, "Wow Norbert, you've grown up" Harry took at step back and raised his wand to the flame. This was the hard part, willing the flames and magic to cease existence. Focusing on everything in the dragon, the wings, the spikes, the way the tail swished, and the claws, Harry forced the flame back into his wand. As the flames slowly shriveled wisp by reluctant wisp, Harry felt the twinges in the muscles of his arms. He was out of practice; this was tiring him more than it should.

Once the flames were completely extinguished, a panting Harry sat down on the cold flagstones and looked at what remained of the stone before him. A twisted smoking spire was all that remained after the flames had ravaged the small stone column. Between breathes, Harry squinted up through the smoke and steam at the top and groaned as he collapsed completely into ground. A small gold ring with red lettering about it shone through the smog mockingly.

* * *

Aragorn turned the corner towards the porch where the dooming decision to destroy the ring was made earlier that day. Or yesterday, Aragorn corrected himself as he saw the sky lightening in the east. Aragorn paused to inhale the air of the new day and then paused. Smoke.

Following the scent of smoke Aragorn found himself in the middle of the porch. Strange, no fires were lit on the porch for the night. As a cloud rolled back from the moon, the terrace was cast in silver light. Aragorn looked around for the source of the smoke and saw what looked like a burnt branch across from him. Approaching it Aragorn realized that the smoke was not rising from a branch, but the mangled and molten remains of stone.

Sighing, Aragorn knew he would not need to go far to find the source of this new devilry. Aragorn looked around and wondered why someone in their right mind would want to destroy a short stone plinth that only had the purpose to bear a vase of flowers in the summer months. In the late autumn month it had very little purpose, Elrond may have used it to set books upon on occasions when he did not gaze at the stars from his usual study.

The question of _how_ still needled Aragorn as he tentatively touched the twisted and charred rock. It was still warm, meaning that the fire was extremely hot, beyond that which was used in the forges of the elven-smiths, if the stone could still hold heat in the late autumn night air. He knew the stranger held the power to throw attackers and the escape from bindings, but to melt stone was a power he would have pegged beyond that of the stranger. It seemed to be too much power for one who was not of the Istar to wield.

As Aragorn walked to Gandalf's chambers to inform him of his 'guest's' latest action he wondered what he would do concerning Arwen. He was to leave with the Ring bearer, Sam, Boromir, and no doubt Gandalf. Elrond was no doubt forming a list of warriors to accompany the Ring to Mordor: Legolas son of Thranduil, King of Mirkwood, had been recommended to represent Mirkwood and Gimli son of Gloin was recommended to represent the dwarves. Elrond had wanted to send a company of nine with the Ring to match the Nine Nazgul. Aragorn knew that if the Nine came upon the company he would likely sacrifice himself for the Ring bearer's escape. His heart was pained by the thought of leaving Arwen for what could be the last time.

He knew he had to at least try to convince her to go to the undying shores, she deserved the chance to be free of Ring and the disaster it wields. She wouldn't take kindly to the suggestion, but-

Aragorn's thought were interrupted as he passed the Hobbit's room. Normally Aragorn would dismiss the smell of smoke in the halls to the fact that it was the verge of winter and the room needed heat, however, it was not the smell of burnt wood, but the smell of the burnt stone on the porch. Poking his head into the room, Aragorn looked around and saw two hobbits blissfully asleep, creeping further, Aragorn glanced about for signs of tampering

Aragorn tenderly pulled the door open. A clear room greeted his sight. With the moonlight filled room Aragorn could not sense an intruder anywhere. Aragorn paused next to Frodo's waistcoat, it smelled of the same acrid smoke that lingered in the hall. Aragorn paused as his fingers made out the outline of the Ring in the left breast pocket.

He paused further when he realized there was something that felt like a twig inside the pocket with it. Looking about, Aragorn saw a branch on the windowsill with a broken end that appeared to be the same size as the piece in the pocket.

Someone was fishing for the Ring.

Someone who knew how dangerous it was.

The pieces didn't fit together. Did the stranger take possession of the Ring? If so, why was it still here? How did the man know it was dangerous to touch? Did the Ring have anything to do with the molten column?

Aragorn couldn't help but wonder how Gandalf was going to defend his guest after this.

* * *

A/N: Apologies for the long wait, wasn't near a computer for two weeks and needed to reimmerse myself into the story. Hope it was worth the wait.


	6. Chapter 5

A/N: Hey all,

Long time, no see, right? So I have had my own reasons for avoiding this story, which involved a whole ton of healing, grieving, stress, and growing up a crap-ton. I had this fragment lying on my hard drive... which I polished up a bit and decided to toss out to all you who actually enjoy reading this and for some reason, still are after two years.

I plan on re-writing this. I really do.

Which leads me to this:

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. I don't own any part of Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit, or anything else the J.R.R. Tolkein may have even touched, let alone written.

* * *

**Chapter 5**

Harry slumped against the wall as he exited from the hobbit's room. He knew he needed to get a grip on himself but his arm was still shaking from the death grip he had on his wand while controlling the fiendfyre. Not many took into account the tensing of the muscles in one's arm and the adrenaline crash that came with trying not to become well done and served with a side of chips.

Staggering a few steps across the hall, Harry considered his options. They would find out that the Ring had been taken. Harry didn't bother covering his tracks, no point really when you destroy lawn ornaments.

Harry stopped and slid down the wall opposite the room he left. This whole situation was unexpected. The destroyed property was expected, Harry was not a master of the spell, but sacrifices had to be made in the form of personal property. Not _his_ personal property, but the sentiment remains.

The ring should have been destroyed. It didn't make sense. Fiendfyre eradicated magic. Magic binds souls to objects. Eliminate the magic and the soul would be unbound and collapse at once and then be defenseless in the flames.

Looking up at the intricately carved ceiling Harry couldn't help but wonder if his magic was leaving him in this new place. He could only wonder what the implications of stepping into a completely different world would have on the laws of magic that he knew. Actually the more he thought about Gandalf, the more he wondered about the title of 'wizard'. In the weeks Harry had spent in this strange land, he had never seen the wizard use magic beyond glancing at the surface of his mind. No sparks, no wand, no true Legillimancy, not even an owl for a pet.

'No'. Harry thought while staring at the Hobbit's door. 'The wizard only has the uncanny ability to-'

Harry was jerked out of his thoughts as the wall in front of him turned into the ceiling above him. Squirming about, Harry tried to figure out where the wall behind him went. His eyes came to rest on a pair of grey boots. Following them up, Harry's gaze came to rest upon the grey beard of a smiling old man.

Speak of the devil.

"Ah, there you are. I was beginning to worry that you were going to steal into the night. Glad exhaustion is for once serving in my favor", said the elderly voice from above, "And here I find you at my door, good gracious me." After a small smile, Gandalf turned around and entered into the room behind them.

Rubbing his head, Harry mildly cursed the wizard with his thoughts.

"And if you choose not to come inside, I think you would make an excellent doorstop." Continued the voice in a derisive tone from the room.

Harry picked himself off the ground, muttered, "Damn wizards" and wandered inside.

He followed the light and took three steps into the lodgings of the wizard. The door shut behind him of its own accord, causing Harry to jump and level his wand at it.

The voice, somewhat exasperated, came from around the corner behind him, "I assure you stranger that here in Rivendell, it is not the _doors_ that are accustomed to attacking guests."

Lowering his wand, but not holstering it, Harry followed the voice around the corner into the glow of the fireplace. The room had the same architecture that Harry had come to associate with the elves, however the decorations were more…human. A few dusty tomes on a stool that served as a resting place for a plate of bread. A glass orb with block shaped runes rested haphazardly upon a stack of parchment. A staff that leaned against a hearth where a kettle sat, presumably full, but not boiling. A sword was tucked behind a comfy, but not overstuffed, armchair.

The place retained articles that could be found everywhere else in the waypost of the elves, but for the first time Harry saw them in what seemed like chaos compared to the clean and pristine environment the elves had created. It was closest he had felt to the Burrow in over two years.

Shaking the dark thoughts from his head and holstering his hand, he looked up to see Gandalf take his seat at the table before the hearth. Three cups were set at the table, and a grey-robed arm gestured to the two remaining seats. Selecting the seat facing the wizard with his back to the wall beside the entrance, Harry felt he could settle down to enjoy tea so long as he could keep his eye on the biggest threat he had found in the past few days.

"Now that you are settled, is there anything you'd like to ask?" Gandalf inquired while he was preoccupied with stuffing his pipe.

Harry was almost disappointed by the lack of interrogation, "No inquiries?" he said as he leaned back slightly in his chair.

After he finished tamping the pipe, "Oh yes, several in fact, they can wait a bit longer. At my age you learn when the questions can wait and when they cannot" Gandalf finished with a small smile and inhaled from the pipe.

Harry smirked at the action, and after the wizard exhaled a long stream of white smoke, he decided to take the bait, "Okay, here is one: How many people notice that you never light your pipe but still smoke it?"

"Ha! Ha-heug-Ha! Bright lad!" Gandalf hacked out while coughing harshly into one fist and pounded the table with the other, "Bravo! Hek-Eugh My boy! Well done!" With the coughing fit not stopping anytime soon Harry passed over his mug.

Gandalf gratefully accepted the mug, drank deeply from it, and looked up at Harry with watery eyes and a crinkled grin, "Thank you. You are the first person I've come across in a century that has noted that crafty little trick of mine. However, I'd say that the person who could spot my trick would be clever enough to notice that your mug didn't have water in it when I gave it to you. Wouldn't you agree?"

Harry smiled, what had to be his first sober smile in over two months, he had been caught. The wizard before him wasn't blind to his surroundings, his eyesight may not be the keenest, but what he saw he cared enough about to fully notice it. It was also the proof Harry needed.

Chuckling lightly, Harry relaxed back into his chair, "It's probably a safe wager. Though I must say, I was beginning to wonder if you were a wizard that didn't use magic."

Gandalf quirked an eyebrow and exhaled slowly, "Well, that would be because my power and your magic are different, no?"

Now it was Harry's turn to question the meaning in the question, "I'm not quite sure I know what you mean." The question implied curiosity in power, and that was enough to set Harry back on the edge of his paranoia.

Gandalf looked at Harry and seemed to be weighing his options, after a mild shrug, the man continued, "Your powers are not the same as the Istari. We have a different purpose and thus a different type of power than that you would need to fulfill your purpose."

Harry leaned forward to the grey man enshrouded in smoke, "I have no idea what your power is, let alone to compare it to mine. Besides," he said with a smirk, "I make it a point to not believe in purposes. "

Gandalf shrugged and puffed into his pipe, "I have found solace in purpose. I suppose you revile the comfort it brings."

Before Harry could counter the statement there was a sharp knock at the door. Gandalf got up before Harry could tilt his head to the noise. For looking almost 80 years old the man was rather sprightly, but then, who knew how old wizards were just by looking at them?

"Unusually late." Muttered the elder passing in front of him to the door. Harry resisted the urge to draw his wand. It was quite clear that no one here had a reason to want his soul destroyed.

Well…Unless they were an elf.

Harry settled for a gentle grip on his phoenix wand. Just in case.

* * *

Aragorn exited the Halfling's room and glanced down the hallway. No one graced the halls this late in Imladris, unless they were causing mischief. The stranger may have already escaped Imladris, a cursed blessing if so.

Taking a deep breath Aragorn knelt to the ground and placed his ear on the cold flagstone. If the 'lokion' of the elves was still in the halls he would hear his footsteps.

It was only after three seconds of pressing his ear to floor that he remembered the stranger's uncanny ability to leave no tracks and make no sound when he walked. Just before he got up, Aragorn heard a chair move and what sounded like someone pounding on a table.

Jumping to his feet, Aragorn brushed himself off and looked in the direction of the noise and smiled. Gandalf was still awake. Stepping towards the door, Aragorn was thankful he could at least consult his friend in this matter. Knocking on the door Aragorn looked at the pale blue eastern horizon and wondered why the wizard was awake. Aragorn had barely glanced at the sky when the door opened before him.

A tired, but jovial, smile greeted him, "I was beginning to worry you wouldn't knock."

Aragorn smiled, of course Gandalf knew something would bring him to his door, "So then you know what brings me here?"

The wizard gestured him in, "Aragorn I think you'll find more answers than you had questions tonight."

'For once.' Aragorn thought as he closed his eyes and let the warmth of the hearth wash over him. He glanced around the room, taking in the comfortable disarray of books and baubles that Gandalf pulled together to form the closest thing to a residence that the Wizard had.

"Does the same thing go for me, as well?" Came a voice below him to his right.

Whirling around to face the unexpected occupant of the room, Aragorn couldn't contain the groan that escaped his lips. There before him, clad in his customary dark robes was the cause of his anxiety.

'Lokion' was becoming a more apt description day by day.

"Please take your seat, Aragorn." While the old man was tired, he left no room for argument, "I assure you that this man has done no wrongdoing that warrants Lord Elrond's immediate attention." Looking to the dark clad man Gandalf continued, "I decided that it was time to end the childish bickering and that we all come to a point where cooperation can be achieved."

Aragorn took the remaining seat and glanced at the man beside him. He was surprisingly sober, however looked as unkempt as ever with a scraggly and patched beard and his sleeves were mildly singed. Whatever doubt Aragorn had concerning this man's involvement with the black twisted stone on the terrace was squelched.

Before Aragorn could comment on the burnt material, Gandalf walked to the fireplace muttering and smacked the teapot in the fireplace; it responded in turn with a strong jet of steam.

The man beside him quirked a grin and slowly rested his elbows on the table. Gandalf filled the three cups with hot tea and sat down by his mug next to Aragorn and across from the still unnamed occupant of the room.

"Now, we can have civil discourse." Gandalf said settling deeper into his chair while clutching his mug, before Aragorn could speak however, Gandalf's voice broke in, "My name is Gandalf the Grey, but I have many names. My purpose is to see an end to the Dark Lord Sauron."

Gandalf gestured to Aragorn, "This is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. He is a trusted friend of mine, and is a Ranger of the North."Gandalf set down his mug and glanced across the table, getting no response he picked up his discarded pipe and continued, "I was curious if you were ready to share your name…" Gandalf trailed off, absently chewing at the end of his pipe.

The man to his left sighed and then looked across the table, "The name is Harry Potter," he then turned and looked at Aragorn as if suddenly acknowledging his presence, "Hope that wasn't too anti-climactic."

"An unusual name," Gandalf said after taking a long draw from the pipe, "From what land do you hail from?"

The stranger paused

"You may be wondering how you were roped into this journey for the past few weeks, am I right?"

The stranger shifted his weight, gave a half-grin, and looked at Gandalf, "It has passed my mind once or twice, yes"

Gandalf smiled, "Well it is a bit of a long story, but you heard most of it yesterday, am I correct in this as well?"

Aragorn looked between Gandalf and the man beside him. What was Gandalf talking about? Did that mean the stranger was at the Council? Gandalf also helped steer the young man away from the topic of his origins, what was the wizard playing at?

"I was invited, yes." The stranger said staring steadily at the Grey Wizard. "So I should think I was expected there."

"Oh you were," Gandalf said with an equal chagrin, "It is just tradition that you make your presence known when attending a meeting. So it is safe to assume that you understand the gravity of the situation that you are in now?"

The man blinked and looked at Gandalf in confusion, "I don't want your ring, I have no need for it. I can get out of your way actually, I was planning on leaving this morning."

"I believe you, otherwise I have no doubt that if you wanted it, you would have absconded with it weeks ago." Gandalf paused to blow a long stream of smoke towards the fireplace. "I was referring to the fact that you have been seen by servants of Sauron in the presence of the Ring and you have garnered his curiosity. There is no place you can go where he does not have spies or soldiers who seek to be guerdoned by bringing you to Mordor"

The ball of guilt Aragorn had been carrying for the past few weeks tightened, the stranger- Harry Potter- probably didn't realize the size of the manhunt that would be mounted for him. Despite the man's deplorable behavior, he didn't warrant the attention of the enemy.

The stranger paused for a second, and then let out a barking chuckle that held no humor. Aragorn looked askance to his right and saw Gandalf look grimly across the table over the small cloud of smoke he had created on his end of the table.

"So, your Dark Lord seeks information from me, cause _he_ thinks that I want that piece of-"The man paused and took a deep breath, "I appreciate your concern, but I'll be fine on my own."

Aragorn stood and slammed his hand on the table, "Perhaps we were not clear. The enemy is mounting a hunt for you. Nowhere amongst civilization will be safe. The Enemy has spies everywhere, waiting, listening. Stronger and wiser men than you have been killed and tortured for information less valuable than what you have."

Aragorn looked up from his hand and saw that the stranger was staring blankly at him. It was actually a reasonable response when one considers the enormity of the situation. There was no place that-

"Is that all?"

Aragorn's thoughts were interrupted by Harry smirking at his warning and the same glint that was in his eyes the night before the Council. The same glint that made Aragorn consider the time it would take to reach into his boot for the simple knife stored there.

Gandalf immediately inserted himself into the exchange of warnings, "While I am sure you would have a surprise or two up your sleeves, and probably could find a means to escape the enemy's notice, Sauron will probably have a surprise or twelve to gain the information you carry. I may also be correct in assuming you do not know the lay of the lands around us as well as the enemy does, and therefore will be at a bit of a disadvantage."

Harry scowled at the implication of weakness and opened his mouth to counter Gandalf but then snapped it shut and worked his jaw as the focus of his ire was shifted to the elderly wizard.

Gandalf sighed and tried to appease the young man before him, "I am not suggesting you are weak, nor trying to cozen you into thinking I know how the Darkness in the East will try capture you. I am merely suggesting that your journey away from the hospitality of the elves could be made easier with assistance." Aragorn noticed Gandalf's nose twitch in amusement as he said the word "hospitality", perhaps knowing full well how the young man interpreted the patience and kindness of Lord Elrond.

Harry looked away from the wizard and scratched the scruff on his jaw as he weighed the old wizard's words. Gandalf pressed on, perhaps sensing a change in how his suggestion was received, "I will not try to tempt you with purpose but I do have a proposition that could benefit you greatly." Gandalf raised his mug which Aragorn noticed contained a small amount of water, "From one traveler to another"

Harry smirked and raised his mug in kind and took a sip from it, leaving Aragorn to wonder what was going on as he stared at his empty mug.

* * *

"Gandalf, this is not the time for jests"

"Lord Elrond, you know I am not in the habit of jesting when it comes to the Dark Lord Sauron"

"He will not be in the company of the Ring. He has taken it once already-"

"-And then returned it, a feat that can only be claimed by a few. I am not suggesting he becomes a member of the nine who will protect the ring-bearer only that he travels amongst them"

The voices echoed down the hall towards Elrond's study and passed out of the hearing of corner that seemed to ripple in the early winter wind. Harry could only imagine how Gandalf broke the initial news to the Lord Elrond. While the wizard had tact massed in tonnage, Harry suspected that the wizard enjoyed the occasional opportunity to excuse himself from it.

Harry knew that Gandalf wasn't prying into his past, but he couldn't figure out why. Was the old wizard a master of the mind arts, and broke into his mind already? Probably not. Harry would like to think he would notice if someone stirred the pot up there. Also, Gandalf would probably be less trusting if he knew what Harry had done in the past year. Harry was pretty sure he didn't count as one of 'good guys' anymore. Perhaps Gandalf believed he could take Harry in a fight if he turned on him, regardless of how dangerous his past was. Harry wondered who would win in that fight, while Harry had youth and a not too shabby arsenal of spells up his sleeve, the aged wizard had power that Harry doubted anyone in Rivendell had seen tapped to its potential.

Whatever the reason, Gandalf seemed to have taken Harry into the trust of an acquaintance at least, which Harry still couldn't wrap his mind around. After all, if a Dark Lord is out there, the first thing you have to learn is not to trust strangers. Heck, sometimes you can't even trust your friends.

Gandalf's friends certainly did not trust him. Well, perhaps he should narrow that down to his human and elf friends. The dwarves loved him and on the rare occasion when his chats with Gandalf were a rouse to have him enter the hall while dinner was served, the dwarves insisted that Harry join them. The oldest Hobbit sat with them on occasion, but was usually seated next to his host: Lord Elrond.

Lord Elrond. Now _he_ was an interesting being.

Harry knew he was an old geezer in the body of someone who barely looked forty years old, but as Harry glanced around at the frescoes of the old war in Rivendell, he felt a weird sort of understanding for the ancient elf.

He had seen the first war, lived it, fought it, and yet, couldn't stop it from becoming a second war in his life time. While Harry was only alive for the tail-end of the First War, he watched as his enemy rose up unchallenged until it became too late.

While he could understand Elrond's mistrust in him, he couldn't help but feel a bit irked about him stonewalling Gandalf's plan to help Harry.

The plan that had him travelling with the Fellowship of the Ring.

* * *

A/N: Short n' sweet. I highly doubt I will ever update this version of the story again, but will definitely plan on re-writing it. I'll post the news on this story when I get around to it. I'll probably watch The Hobbit when it hits theatres and then decide on going through with it.

If anyone wants to adopt this, drop me a PM and we can chat about it. Don't know If I will agree, but don't be afraid to ask.

-Morwen


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